Unhappily Ever After
by unoriginal-elizabeth
Summary: Dasey. Futurefic. "Are you RECYCLING insults for me?" she asked, insulted beyond measure.
1. Chapter 1

NOTES: Futurefic. Again, I'm pretty new to LWD, so any comments or criticisms would be gratefully received.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing LWD.

* * *

There was only one sane response to Nora's request.

"No!"

"Would you like to repeat that a little louder? I still have some hearing left in this ear," her mother said.

"I'm sorry mom," Casey said, in a tone more suited to phone conversation. "I really am, but you have to realise that it's out of the question. The drama festival is this week, and I'm the head-coordinator."

"I know it's asking a lot, Casey, but Derek's having a really rough time."

"I know, I know," Casey said, a strong note of 'heard-it-all-before-but-still-not-convinced' in her voice. "According to you, Derek is 'heartbroken'."

"You know, I can actually hear you using quotation marks from here," Nora said.

Casey sighed. "Mom, it's _Derek_. I hear the words 'Derek' and 'in love' and all I see is...Derek looking in a mirror." She brightened. "Maybe he has stomach flu?"

"I'm telling you, he has been miserable since that girl dump-" Nora caught herself. "I mean, since he and his girlfriend came to a mutual agreement to part ways that was friendly, polite and above all, mutual. I did mention that it was mutual, right?"

"So his ego is hurt because he got dumped," Casey translated, rolling her eyes. "I still don't see a reason for me to babysit him for a week."

"Believe me, Casey, if it were just Derek, I could handle it, but with George and Marti" –

"What's the problem with George and Marti?"

"Puberty," Nora said heavily.

"After me, Derek, Lizzie and Edwin, Marti shouldn't be any trouble," Casey said.

"Oh, I can handle Marti," her mother said. "The problem is George."

"What?"

"He's woken up to the fact that his baby is growing up, and let's just say...he's not taking it well."

"He keeps buying me stuffed animals," a new voice interrupted. "I can hardly fit in my room."

"Marti, what have I told you about listening in on private phone conversations?"

"It's boring?"

"No, that would be the voice in your head." Nora sounded exasperated. "It's rude and" –

Marti ignored this, addressing Casey instead. "Are you going to take Derek?"

"Marti, I don't know if I have the time – I'm really busy at the moment with the drama festival, and besides...this is Derek. Maybe I'm just being suspicious, but this sounds exactly like the kind of stunt he would pull to scam a few days vacation."

"Yeah - but it's really really not," Marti said, very seriously.

Casey digested this in silence. She once again tried to picture a Derek completely crushed and heartbroken. As enjoyable as the image was, it was blurry and somewhat unbelievable. But...Marti did sound sincere. Of course...Marti could be involved in Derek's scheme - but Casey quickly squashed that thought. That sort of thinking led to circular logic and lack of trust.

"I don't know..." she said, much less confident.

Sensing weakness, Nora leapt in with, "I know you're busy honey, but really, Derek's visit won't affect you at all...much! It's not like a visit-visit – more...a change of scene. You won't even have to spend much time together, if you don't want to." She took a breath. "Think of it as your annual Derek-related good deed," she advised.

"Is it that time of year already?" Casey asked, giving in with bad grace.

* * *

There was only one sane response to Casey's request.

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"Um...because it's my house?" Christian said. "I know you haven't told your family about us, but Casey, this is ridiculous. I am not moving out for a week. Are you that ashamed of me?"

"No! No!" Casey hastened to reassure him. "It's not _you_ I'm worried about...it's – Derek."

He smiled. "And what's the worst Derek could do?"

"You don't know him," Casey said darkly. "He's...Derek. It's hard to explain."

Christian raised his eyebrows. "Try," he suggested.

"He...he just...he's very..._Derek_."

"So...his name is an adjective," Christian said slowly.

"Yes! Like – 'horrible', or 'boorish', or 'obnoxious'." Casey thumped a throw pillow into submission and glared at it.

"I see," he said.

"No, you don't. He's going to mess everything up. Derek-ly."

"His name is an adverb too?"

"Yes. Like 'fatally' or 'stupidly.'"

Christian considered this. "So...his name is a noun, an adjective, and an adverb," he said, ticking each possibility off on his fingers. "Come on, go for gold – the verb. I know you want to."

Casey frowned at him. "You're not taking this seriously!" she said. "This is Derek! He's going to Derek everything up!"

Christian blinked. "I...think I can translate that one for myself."

* * *

There was only one sane response to the monologue.

"Casey, shut up!"

She halted mid-sentence.

"Let me make this easy for you" –

"That'd be a first," Casey muttered.

"- and for me," he continued, "since we've been standing here for the last fifteen minutes."

He glared at Casey, who looked guiltily down at her key, and took a deep breath. "Okay – there's something I need to tell you. My room-mate isn't a girl called Christina, it's" –

"Your boyfriend – called Christian," Derek finished, sounding bored.

"I-what...how did you know?"

"I'll give you two choices," he said, holding out both hands as if to weigh both options. "Either I'm psychic, or...you're a horrible liar." He leaned a little closer, and said, confidentially, "In case you can't decide, here's a clue – I'm not planning on setting up a hotline anytime soon."

Casey gaped at him. "Does everyone know?" she asked in a small, appalled voice.

"Let me think...Yes!" he said, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He gestured impatiently between her key and the door.

"But how?" she asked, almost to herself.

Derek released a breath. "Hmm. I don't know...it could be that – you're a terrible liar." Almost as an afterthought he said, "Plus the message on your answering machine starts something like," he cleared his throat and adopted a deep, cheery tone, "'Hey! You've reached the nest of Christian and Casey – leave a message and one of us lovebirds is sure to get back to you!'"

"I explained that!" Casey argued.

He stared pityingly at her. "Yeah. Badly."

"It's just – it all happened so fast and I didn't want anyone to" –

"Casey! Do I look like I care about anything apart from putting this bag down?"

"No," she granted.

Once again, he gestured to the key in Casey's hand, and the still-locked door. Slowly Casey inserted the key in the lock and turned it. She put her hand on the knob, then turned suddenly to face Derek again.

"But if you say one word to make Christian uncomfortable" –

"Open the door now, and I promise you lovebirds are safe," he said, palm out in a mocking Scout salute. Casey eyed him suspiciously, but couldn't find a reason to delay any longer.

Once inside, Derek dropped his bag right beside the door. Casey readied herself for a familiar tirade (almost enjoying the prospect) when she heard the familiar thump of boots on the stairs.

"Hi there!" Christian said, as he descended, hand outstretched. "You must be Derek."

Derek smiled widely, falsely, and said, "And you must be Christian," taking the offered hand. "Casey's told me so much about you." He darted a malicious glance at Casey, who narrowed her eyes at him.

"She has?" Christian said. He shot a pleased look in her direction, apparently oblivious to the byplay. "Well, your stepsister is really something." He smiled at Casey.

"That's one way of putting it," Derek agreed. "Though, personally, I've always thought of her as more of an 'it'."

It was at that moment that Casey, secure in the belief that she had been conned, began fantasising about appropriate punishments for Nora and Marti.


	2. Chapter 2

NOTES: Futurefic. Again, I'm still pretty new to LWD, so all comments and criticisms would be gratefully received

DISCLAIMER: LWD? Still not mine.

* * *

It happened way too soon. They hadn't even finished dinner when the phone rang.

"But I can't just leave you alone with Derek," Casey protested. "You're not ready!"

"Okay, then stay," Christian said.

"I can't stay! The drama festival begins tomorrow night, and there are still major issues with the first set! Your dad is counting on me!"

"Then go," he shrugged his shoulders.

"You're not taking this seriously!"

"Casey – what's the worst he could do?"

"That question just shows how unprepared you are!" She sighed. "Okay – let's start with the basics..."

Casey was still coaching him as she slid on her coat.

"And if he gets a look on his face like..." Casey rearranged her features into a thoughtful expression.

"It means he's planning something," Christian said confidently.

"What about this one?" Casey pasted on a look of disgusted boredom.

"Still planning something."

"And if he says he's hungry?"

"He's hungry. And possibly planning something."

"Good! Now – most importantly, if he mentions the words 'Let's' 'surprise' and 'Casey' in any combination you...?"

"Are entitled to use force in order to stop him," Christian repeated obediently.

Casey looked at him. "Okay," she said, with visible reluctance. "I guess that's as much as I can do..."

"Relax. I'm sure everything will be fine."

"Yeah," she said, smiling a rather sickly smile. She turned and opened the door, only to turn back and throw herself into Christian's arms.

"Be careful!" she said.

* * *

It was over two and a half hours later when Casey got back.

"I take it you solved the problem?" Christian asked.

"Finally," she said, eyes darting around the room. She frowned and made her way to the kitchen.

"No wonder you're my dad's favourite person," he called, twisting around on the couch so that she could hear.

Casey ignored this as she wandered back into the living room. "Where's Derek, and what did you do to him?" As if she couldn't help herself, she added, "And did you video it?"

He smiled. "Relax – D felt like an early night. And you'll be happy to hear that we actually had a good time. Well, I did, anyway."

"D?" Casey asked, a dread suspicion taking hold.

"Yeah. We had a few drinks, we talked...he seems like a pretty okay guy, actually."

"An okay guy," she repeated slowly.

"Yeah...what's wrong, Casey?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she repeated, hollowly. "I mean, yes, you broke one of the unbreakable rules" –

"I did?"

"'Never fraternise with the enemy'?" she reminded him.

"I'm sorry – there were just so many rules. It was hard to keep track," he defended.

"It's...okay," she said, trying to make the best of things. "Maybe it was just a normal conversation. Well, as normal as a conversation with Derek can be." She fidgeted. "So...what did Derek talk about?"

"Um..."

"Um?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well...he didn't really say much. To be honest, I guess I was the one doing most of the talking."

"Okay," Casey said, in a markedly higher voice. "That's still okay. Really. I mean, I'm sure you didn't discuss anything really personal or anyth"- she trailed off at the guilty look on his face. "What did you tell him?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he said, too quickly. "I – can't remember."

Casey flopped down onto the couch with a groan.

"I'm sorry?" he offered. "But seriously, Casey, I think you're making a big deal over nothing. D seems like a good guy" –

Casey directed a look of mingled pity and disbelief his way, but he continued –

"Seriously though – what's the worst he could do?"

"I'm sure we'll find out," she said darkly.

* * *

Casey watched Derek narrowly over the breakfast table, but it seemed Christian's faith was being rewarded. Derek seemed completely uninterested in mocking her for the incident with Christian's mother. Or the incident with the tickets and the small child. Or the incident with the ice-cream. Or any number of incidents Christian could have told him about, and that made Casey's blood run cold.

The only time Derek looked up from his cereal bowl was when Casey placed a ticket and a programme that screamed '_Soul Dance_! Love! Hate! Square Dancing!' on the table in front of him.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at it suspiciously.

"Your complimentary ticket to 'Soul Dance', an original production making its debut at my drama festival."

Derek dropped the ticket onto the table. "Yeah, about that," he said. "I'm thinking...not."

"You're not going?" Casey asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why? Do you want me to go?"

"No," she said very quickly. "Of...course not."

"So – what's the problem? You don't want me to go, I don't want to go – seems like 'not going' works for everyone."

She blinked. "I – yeah. Okay."

He smiled insincerely. "Great." He deposited his cereal bowl in the sink and wandered out of the kitchen. A moment later, the television clicked on.

Casey frowned, and picked up the ticket. "Something is wrong," she said, almost to herself.

"Why? Because your stepbrother doesn't want to see a play? You know, D doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to appreciate a play about square dancing."

Casey turned to face him. "Yeah, but does 'D' seem like the kind of guy who would pass up an opportunity to _mock_ a play about square dancing? Something is wrong," she repeated. "He's not being very...Derek."

"Well, his girlfriend did just dump him. Of course it's going to affect his behaviour," Christian offered.

"That's not it," she dismissed immediately. "There's no way Derek is pining for some girl." She snorted at the idea, before becoming serious again. "I just wish I knew what he was planning."

"Why don't you just relax and enjoy the peace," he offered.

"Enjoy this?" Casey asked, as if the idea was ridiculous.

"Yeah. I mean, he's not going to spend all of his time bugging you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess," Casey said.

* * *

After a long day of preparation for the opening night of the drama festival, Casey really needed an hour or two to unwind. The last thing she needed to see when she walked into the kitchen was yet another indication that –

"Something is very very wrong."

"What?"Christian called. "Has he broken the plates? Is the dishwasher overflowing? Did he empty the fridge?"

"No," she said, still staring.

"Then what"- Christian began, only to tail off as he entered the room. "This is exactly how we left the kitchen this morning," he pointed out.

"I know!" Casey said.

He just looked at her, awaiting an explanation.

"It should be different. Messy! It's Derek!"

He shrugged. "People can change?" he offered.

"Not Derek," she said firmly. She stalked to the sink. It was as she'd feared. "He even put away his cereal bowl!" She stopped. "Whatever he's planning, it must be big."

* * *

Derek's odd behaviour kept Casey from fully enjoying the first show – yet another thing to hold against him, she thought – since it was, according to all reports –

"A great success!" Mr Tremblay beamed. He turned to Christian. "Hold on to this girl!" he said.

"I'll try, dad," Christian said.

"You should feel proud of yourself," Mr Tremblay said to Casey.

She managed a smile. He was so enthusiastic – just as enthusiastic as Casey was about drama. She knew she should be as thrilled as he was – bookings had been good, and everything had gone so smoothly. But there was that niggling sense of something wrong. She was surprised to realise that, quite apart from the mingled dread and annoyance she felt about whatever Derek was plotting, she also felt...hurt, that Derek hadn't come.

Though it was mostly annoyance, she hastily reassured herself.

* * *

When she figured it out, it came as a complete shock.

"It'll be good for you," she said, waving the ticket in front of him.

"Yeah – that'll bring the crowds in," Derek said.

"You haven't been to any of my plays!"

"First of all, unless I'm way off base here, 'Hamlet' isn't exactly 'your' play, is it? Second of all, why do you care?"

"Because" –

"Because...?" Derek repeated, making a speed it up gesture with his hands.

"It's really rude," she said, glaring.

"Shakespeare's dead. I don't think he cares whether I come to his play or not."

"You're being rude to _me_," she said.

"Glad you noticed," he said absently.

"I mean, I'm the person who coordinated all this" –

"And I'm the person who really doesn't care." He tried to move past, but Casey blocked the way.

"And my boss, Christian's _dad_, is wondering why someone from my family – who is right here – won't even make the effort to come to one of the productions."

"Yeah, well, we're not really family, are we? You're just an accident by marriage. Now, if you don't mind...?"

"You've called me that before," Casey said, not budging. Her eyes widened. "Are you _recycling_ insults for me?" she asked, insulted beyond measure.

There was a slight pause before Derek managed, "What can I say – you just don't inspire me anymore."

But it was too late – the look on his face, the weird behaviour...it all suddenly made sense – and it hit Casey like a punch to the stomach.

"It's true, isn't it?" she said softly. "That girl really did break your heart."

They stared at each other for a moment before Derek sniffed loudly. "I can't hide it anymore," he said, in a voice thick with fake sincerity. "You've seen through my facade to the pain beneath. Can we go out for lattes now?"

Casey didn't respond, just kept looking at him with a stunned expression. He quickly looked away from her eyes. With an exasperated shake of his head, he strode out of the kitchen, leaving Casey alone with her sudden, terrible realization.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: ...I feel a bit like I should put in an apology or something. Thanks to all those who commented - and all comments/criticisms are gratefully received!

Disclaimer: LWD isn't even a little bit mine.

* * *

When Christian returned that evening, it was obvious that something was wrong.

"What is it, Casey?"

"What makes you think that something is wrong?" she asked, wielding Saran Wrap with an efficiency that bordered on viciousness.

"Um –well...you look..." he trailed off and made a vague gesture in her direction. "Plus," he continued, "there's all the tofu."

He stared at the kitchen table, which held a terrifying amount of bean-curd.

"Derek is heartbroken," she said.

"Okay. How does that relate to the tofu?" Christian continued his staring match with the table.

"Did you _know_ that Derek was heartbroken?" she asked, sounding offended.

"I've only known your stepbrother for a few days," he said, holding up both hands. "You've known him since you were fifteen. You said, 'Derek doesn't have a heart.' I bowed to your superior judgment."

"Well it turns out he does. And it's broken. That girl broke Derek!" She marched over to the sink and began scrubbing a pot, while muttering under her breath.

"Um. Well, you know, he seems to be doing okay," Christian offered.

Casey whirled around. "Okay? Okay?! He's been staying in every night – keeping the house tidy – not making my life a total misery! He's been _nice_ to you! You call THAT okay?!"

"It's...kind of the definition of 'doing okay'," he said.

"Yeah – but that's not how Derek behaves in _any_ situation." Casey shook her head. "Who is this girl?" she asked suddenly. "What right does she have to make Derek fall in love with her and change him completely?"

He considered this. "Is that such a bad thing?"

She stared at him. He continued hastily, "I mean – wasn't that what all those Derek-stories you told me were about? You wanted him to grow up, act more mature, leave you alone...And now – he has. Maybe, in the long term – even if it didn't work out...this relationship has been good for him." He smiled encouragingly.

Casey blinked. "...That's not the point!" she said, finally.

"It isn't?" he said, completely confused.

"It's the principle of the thing!" she said, gaining confidence.

He sighed. "Casey. I'm trying. But you're going to have to help me out on this one. Only child here, remember?"

He sat at the table, and after a moment, Casey sat opposite him. They regarded each other over the small mountain of tofu. Casey took a deep breath.

"It's like...okay – imagine there's someone who drives you completely crazy. Someone who pushes all your buttons. You don't have conversations – you have arguments. And you spend so much time thinking...if this person were different, everything would be so much easier. And then...this person changes. And you were right. It is easier. But the thing is...he hasn't changed because of you. It's all because of someone else. How does that make you feel?"

She looked at Christian only to find him watching her with a strange half-exasperated expression on his face.

"What?" she asked.

"...Casey – that's exactly what did happen. With me and my dad?" He shook his head at her confused expression. "I know it may sound weird to you, but my dad is not the easiest person in the world to talk to. And after the divorce – I don't know...we just never seemed to see eye to eye. And then...a few months ago, I came back into town and...it was like he was a whole other person. Mellower. Happier." He glanced down at the table for a second, before looking directly at Casey. "Guess what – the change wasn't because of me." He made a small gesture towards her. "Take a bow, Casey McDonald," he said wryly.

She stared at him. "I didn't...I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked.

"Don't you feel cheated? Like...I stole your opportunity to get through to your dad?"

Christian's mouth quirked up slightly. "Hey, a few months ago, I didn't have any relationship with my father. Now – I do. Does it really matter who's behind it?"

"And you were never mad at me?" Casey persisted.

"Well..." he said.

"Well...?"

"Maybe a little. At first," he clarified. "I think that's why it took me so long to ask you out. Maybe I felt a little...jealous...that you found it so easy to talk to him."

"But you got over that?" Casey said doubtfully.

"We're here, aren't we? I finally decided that however it happened...the result was worth it." He stopped and smiled. "That was when I figured that I should keep you around – I mean, my dad and I stand a better shot at a long term relationship if we have a translator."

He reached across the table for Casey's hand, and continued. "Derek will be okay. Just focus on the positives."

Casey looked at him and managed a smile. "You give good advice," she said.

"Good," he said.

They lapsed into silence. Casey drummed her fingers on the small space of table not occupied by Tupperware.

"On the other hand," she said suddenly. "It should be asked – are these two cases necessarily the same?"

Christian stared at her. "You mean," he said slowly, "apart from the way that they sound alike, and have a bunch of features in common?"

"Exactly!" She nodded at him.

He took a deep breath. And then another. "Okay," he said, accepting defeat. "Well, do you want me to make myself scarce?"

"What for?" she asked.

"You're Casey," he pointed out. "This leads me to believe that the next logical step is 'talking'. Do you want some privacy for that? D doesn't seem like the kind of guy who spills all that easily."

"Talk?" she said, as if the word were new to her vocabulary. "To Derek? What would that accomplish? I'm just going to fix him," she said.

"...like a _dog_?!" He regarded her with horror.

"No!" She blinked. "As appealing as the idea may be..." she said thoughtfully. She shook her head and snapped out of it. "I'm going to re-Derek him. Tofu is the next logical step."

She handed him the Saran Wrap.

* * *

"So..." Christian began, "What's for dinner?"

"Tofu surprise," Casey said, as she put down the plates.

"Although, after three days," Derek said, "You have to wonder...just how much of a surprise it really is." He stabbed his fork onto the plate.

"Christian likes it – don't you, Christian?" Casey defended.

"Well, I mean, three days is a bit m – um, yeah. Tofu is-is...great," he amended at Casey's furious, silent gesturing.

Derek stared disgustedly at Christian then Casey, who smiled innocently.

"Tell me," he said, "Do you get some kind of boyfriend-discount at Pets-R-Us?" He stared down at his plate, before scraping his chair back loudly, and leaving the room.

"...In case you missed that - your stepbrother just insulted me for no reason," Christian said.

"I know! Isn't it great?" Casey turned to him with shining eyes. "And look!" she gestured to the untouched plate on the table. "He didn't clean up after himself either. That's progress!"

"It is?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Casey..." he began. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but...this...'helping Derek' thing? Looks a lot like a 'being mean to someone for no good reason' kind of thing."

"I know, but you know better, right? Now, help me hide the cereal," she said, hopping off her chair.

"Casey," he said, in a louder tone, and grabbing hold of her wrist, "...can we talk?"

"Sure. About what?"

"I don't know. It just seems like...You've been so busy with the drama festival. And making really horrible food. And re-setting the security code so that Derek can't leave the house." He paused, "By the way – next time you do that, could you at least tell _me_ the new combination?"

"Sorry," she apologized. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well..."

"Just one minute," Casey said, stiffening at the sound of the television being turned on. She marched out of the kitchen. Christian let his head fall forward, and waited. And waited. And finally, followed her into the living room, where Derek was saying, incredulously –

"No SPORTS?"

"They're too violent," she said.

"There's no way you're serious," he said. "There's just no way!"

"My house, my rules," she said.

"Actually, technically, it's my house," Christian interrupted. Then, at Casey's look, he continued, slightly apologetically, "...her rules."

Derek looked at him and shook his head. "Well, Case, you sure go for a type. Heel, boy," he said, as he passed Christian.

"...and he just did it again," Christian said, mildly. He turned to Casey, who was staring after Derek.

"A few years ago, I could have expected major retaliation for that," she said, almost wistfully. "She really hurt him. Now he's all bark and no bite. I _miss_ his bite." She stopped, shocked by her own admission.

"You really do care about him, huh?" Christian said, with a wondering shake of his head.

Casey returned to the present. "Still," she said, in a more cheerful tone, "we are making progress." She looked at her watch. "I'd better go – I told Marla I'd be there early, to help with the programs. I should be home pretty early though – I think we're ready to move on to phase two of the re-Dereking tomorrow."

"You know, for the first time ever, I'm glad mom and dad never gave me that little brother or sister I asked for," Christian remarked.


	4. Chapter 4

NOTES: Thanks very much to all who have reviewed and are patient enough to stick with this! All comments and criticisms are most welcome.

DISCLAIMER: LWD is not mine.

* * *

The re-Dereking started early.

"Wake up!" she said, as she stepped into Derek's room. There was a protesting mumble from under the sheets.

Undeterred, Casey pulled the curtains back with a purposeful swish, flooding the room with light and causing the mound of bedclothes to flinch.

She tapped her foot and waited. A few moments later, Derek emerged from the tangle of sheets, glaring somewhat blearily at her.

"You know, this is usually the part where I wake up. Screaming," he informed her.

"I'm disappointed," she said. "I thought it took more to scare Derek Venturi, Afficionado of the Horror Movie, than little old me."

"You seriously underestimate yourself," he said. He rubbed a hand over his head and yawned. "Y'know, for some weird reason, I think I'll skip the Tofu Charms this morning. Catch up on some sleep." He lay back down and turned away from her.

She didn't budge. Seconds later, Derek sat up in the bed again. "I'm going to put this in terms you should be able to understand. _That_ was your _cue_ to leave. The exit is downstage right."

Casey cleared her throat. Carefully casual, she said, "I'm going to the mall."

He made a 'so what?' face. "Great," he said. "Don't worry, I'll leave some tofu for you."

"You know," she said, drawing patterns on the carpet with her foot, "mom told me about...Her."

"Do not engage," he muttered to himself. "If you ignore it, it will go away." He caught Casey's eye. "Eventually."

"Mom told me she works in a boutique."

He stared up at the ceiling, obviously following his own advice.

"Don't you think it's about time you got over this...shop-phobia you have?" she asked kindly.

His head slowly turned towards her. "I don't have shop-phobia," he said very carefully, as if Casey were stupid.

"Great!" she said, closing the trap. "Then there's no reason for you not to come with me!"

"None," he agreed. "But I'm still not going."

She crossed her arms. "That's okay. I can wait." She sat down at the end of the bed.

"Fine," he said. Without taking his eyes away from her, he slid down in the bed. Casey waited a few minutes, just long enough to give him the impression that he had won, before she brought out her secret weapon – the magazines. She flicked through the pages as noisily as possible.

"Oooh, you'll never guess who got together!" she said.

There was a heart-rending groan from under the covers. She smiled triumphantly.

* * *

"Okay...and you stand – here!"

"Why?"

Casey ignored this question in favour of smiling at passing shoppers, and handing out –

"...flyers about your stupid play?!"

"It's not stupid," Casey hissed, keeping her smile resolutely in place. "Hi there, if I could have just a minute" –

"You know, everytime I think there's no way you could make this visit suck more, you just" –

He was interrupted by the ringing of Casey's cell phone.

"Here – can you hold these?" she asked, shoving the stack of flyers towards him with one hand, and rummaging in her bag with the other. When the flyers were not taken, she looked up at him.

Derek stood with his arms folded.

"What?"

"I'm guessing that not even your little lap dog does this willingly," he said.

She stared consideringly at him. The phone had stopped ringing, but neither seemed to notice. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Lunch," he said quickly, almost speaking over her. "You're buying. And," he held up a warning hand, "it has to be tofu-free."

"Deal," she said, handing over the flyers.

She dug out her phone just as it started to ring again.

"Hey, Marla!" she said. "How are...okay – slow down...let's talk this through calmly, and see if we can fix it..."

Five minutes later and the problem was almost resolved. "...and offer them free tickets to tomorrow's show," Casey advised.

Marla sighed. "Thank you," she said. There was a murmur in the background, and she laughed. "Your boyfriend says hi by the way," she said. "Is your brother fixed yet?" Casey opened her mouth to correct her, but Marla quickly said, "Sorry, sorry – I mean, stepbrother."

"Getting there." Casey half-smiled as she watched Derek dispensing flyers to two giggling teenage girls.

Marla sighed. "If you want, I could fix him, and you could come in and fix all the booking problems."

"Isn't your dating schedule a little busy at the moment?" Casey asked, because Marla's schedule always was.

"Oh! That reminds me – there's an after-show party tonight. Are you and Chris coming?"

"I don't know – maybe. It depends on Derek."

"It's going to be a great party," she tempted. "Hamlet's going to be there!"

"So you'll finally see if it's meant 'to be – or not to be.'"

There was a pause. "Okay - you're not allowed make any more jokes like that," Marla said. There was more murmuring in the background. "I'm going to put you on to the boss," she said. "He needs to ask you a few questions about your un-surprise presentation."

"Casey! Hello!" Mr. Tremblay said cheerfully.

"Mr. Tremblay," she smiled.

"How is your stepbrother?" he asked. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"We're doing a little last-minute advertising," she replied. She squinted - Derek was now surrounded by a small circle of girls.

"Casey," he said reprovingly, "you should take things easy. You work too hard."

She made a non-committal noise, and moved slightly, to get a better view of Derek.

"Now – about your bouquet...which would you prefer – roses, or lilies? Or would you prefer different flowers?"

"Mr. Tremblay – you really don't have to make a presentation to me. Really. I love drama – I would have done all this anyway," she protested.

"But that's why I _want_ to do it," he said. "Now – roses, or lilies? If you leave it up to me, I might make a mess of it."

She smiled. "I'm sure whatever you pick will be beautiful."

"Ahh – Casey must feel very secure to let me surprise her," he teased.

"That rates pretty low on the surprise scale. I think I can handle it," she said.

After saying her goodbyes, Casey hung up and made her way over to Derek. She was pleased to note the depleted stack of flyers.

"Does anyone else need one?" she asked, holding up the remaining leaflets. She was met with blank stares.

"It's really good," she said enticingly. "A dark study of human passions and" –

The girls began to disperse.

"Remember – the Tremblay Theatre! Doors open at eight!" she called after them.

"You really know how to judge a crowd," Derek remarked.

Casey sighed, then brightened. "At least they took some flyers. From you. A lot of flyers..." She eyed him speculatively. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Oh no - you and Rover are on your own tomorrow," he said. "...and where are you going? In case you've forgotten, you owe me lunch."

Casey paused at a shop entrance to say, "I'll just be a minute – promise."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, and she had proof that phase two had been a success.

"Casey – I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm sore from being pinched in inappropriate places," he paused, "though that was enjoyable at the time...My point is – I'm not really in the mood to watch you try to decide between two identical t-shirts."

"They're not identical," she objected. "This one has a subtle pattern, see?" She held it out for inspection.

"Well, now that you point it out I realise that...I still don't care. Can we go yet?"

"In a minute," she said vaguely. "Can you hold these for me?"

She thrust the two t-shirts in his direction.

"...No," he said, almost experimentally.

She turned and frowned. Derek stood before her with a weird, ecstatic look on his face.

"That – felt really good," he released a shuddering breath. "Ask me again!"

"Derek!" she shook the t-shirts in his direction.

"No!" he said again. He blinked. "Wow – that felt just as good as the first time." He shook his head and walked away.

"Hey! Where are you going?" she demanded, chasing after him.

He stopped at the shop entrance. "I'm done here," he said, enunciating clearly. "I'm done with this" – he gestured between himself and Casey, "retraining programme you've created." He leaned a bit closer and said, confidentially, "A word of warning – I've decided that passive resistance doesn't suit me. I've entered the active resistance stage. Good luck."

He sauntered off

"Wait – what are you talking ab" – Casey began, as she followed...only to be cut off by the shop alarm.

She looked from the approaching security guard, to the t-shirts still clutched in her hands...and finally at Derek, who waved smugly before walking away.

* * *

"He just left you there?! Oh my God, Casey – are you okay?" Christian asked, his hands shooting out to check her for damage. Aside from a slightly dishevelled appearance, she seemed okay. Better than okay – she was practically vibrating with excitement.

"No – he came back," she assured him, brushing him away almost impatiently.

"At least" –

"Eventually. And the security guards even apologized, once he explained what had happened."

"Really?" he asked, doubt in his voice.

"Well," she said, "he _did_ say that he was my carer, and that the trauma of our parents' death in a freak shopping accident had caused me to become a kleptomaniac. They were very understanding then."

"That...is completely horrible and unbelievable," Christian said.

"I know! I mean, me and Derek – related?" She snorted at the thought.

He blinked. "The rest of it isn't horrible and unbelievable?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But it's also classic Derek!" At his still confused look, she spelt it out. "He's BACK!"

She pulled him into the kitchen – "Look!"

He stared at the tofu-full trashcan. "He threw out our food?"

"And he blackmailed me into buying 'normal' food." She smiled widely. "Phase two is a complete success!" She waited. "Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Congratulations," he said. "You've succeeded in turning a seemingly okay guy into a terrible excuse for a human being."

She inclined her head modestly, before getting back to business. "Now that he's totally focused on annoying me, instead of brooding about Her, it's time for the final phase."

"Waitaminute – so phase two was all about making him focus on you?" Christian asked.

"Yes," Casey said, her voice broadcasting 'isn't it obvious?'

"But – I thought...you _hated_ it when Derek focused on you?"

She blinked. "...we all have to make sacrifices," she said eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

NOTES: Oh finally - something new to say. Um - colour me dumb...I told someone that this chapter held The Scene that made me actually sit down and start writing this thing. But some stuff took longer than I thought it would, and this update was getting long...so actually, The Scene is in the next chapter. Sorry, Cheshy!

Again, thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed - all comments and criticisms are entirely welcome.

DISCLAIMER: LWD doesn't belong to me, and the play mentioned in this chapter belongs to Peter Shaffer.

* * *

Really, there were a lot of reasons for Casey to look pleased. The play had been booked out – "But then, it is a local group," Marla said – and it had been well-received. She had fixed the prop problem, and talked Danny, the director, out of hysterics. But the major reason behind her (quickly hidden) smile was Derek, who was approaching with Mr. Tremblay. Derek's eyes were glazed and Mr. Tremblay was panting. Casey suspected there had been an escape attempt.

"You came," she said. "So, what did you think?"

"I was prepared for a play," Derek said, saying the word 'play' with all the distaste someone might use to say, 'a flea bath,' "I wasn't prepared for 'The Casey Song.'"

"The Casey Song?" she repeated, though she knew exactly what he meant.

"'Casey's so great. Casey's so organized. Casey reunited me with my son. Casey's like the daughter I never had.'"

Marla cut in. "That's been top of the charts for the past...52 or so weeks. Meanwhile, I've worked here for three years, and until recently, he thought my name was Maria." She smiled at him. "It's Marla, by the way."

They shook hands, and Casey waited for the inevitable. Marla was wearing a low cut black dress, and Derek was Derek.

"So, Casey – what did you think of the production?" Mr Tremblay said, distracting her.

"I enjoyed it," she said.

"It's one of my favourites," he said.

"I mean, the pacing in scene two was" –

"You noticed that," he sounded pleased, "Well" –

"I should have known," Christian interrupted, standing next to Casey. "I am going to be out of my depth in three minutes, huh?"

"You could listen – you might learn something," Mr Tremblay said.

Casey took the opportunity to peer at Marla and Derek. She frowned. Something was wrong. Yes, they were talking, and laughing, but Derek...seemed to be engaging with her as a person, instead of a potential date.

Marla caught her eye, and said, "Hey, Casey, did you think about tonight? The party?" she came closer.

Mr. Tremblay and Christian moved to make space for her.

"A party?" Mr. Tremblay asked.

"Yeah. You know, the local group...celebrating..." she trailed off.

"I didn't know there was a party," he said.

"Oh! Well! You're totally welcome to come! Sir," she said, less than convincingly.

He sighed. "I think not. I would prefer my last memory to be of the words of the play...not of the actors throwing up on various furnishings."

"Well, if we can't convince you..." Marla said, with relief,

He shook his head. "Thank you for the offer. Now if you would excuse me for a moment, I believe I left my keys..." he walked towards his office, a short distance down the hall.

Marla looked at Casey and Christian, "So...what do you guys think?"

Casey was distracted by Derek appearing at her shoulder. She couldn't help asking, "So, what did you really think of the play?"

"Let's just say...it wasn't the kind of show I was expecting."

"_You_ had expectations?" she said skeptically.

"The name of the play is '_Five Finger Exercise_,'" he raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Derek! You're disgusting! I can't believe you would think" –

Satisfied, he sauntered away, followed by an incensed Casey.

"...Casey?" Christian finished, looking at where she was no longer standing. He turned. She and Derek were standing by the small vending machine, arguing.

"So, I'm guessing I'm going to have to ogle myself all night," Marla said conversationally. "Since no-one seems to want to look at me."

Christian turned back. "No, no, you look...very nice," he said. "I'm just..." he twisted around to look at Casey and Derek again.

"Thanks...you know, my little sister still drives me crazy," she said kindly. "When she comes to visit, I'm a completely different person."

"Really?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. She brings out my competitive, mean side."

"I've known you for two years, I guess, off and on," he said. "You don't _have_ a competitive, mean side."

"I know," she said. She nodded at Derek and Casey. "Family does that."

"Thanks," he smiled back.

Meanwhile, at the vending machine, conversation was not going so smoothly.

"But did you like it?" Casey said insistently.

Derek shrugged. "It was pretty realistic," he allowed, finally.

"Realistic?"

"Yeah. It didn't pretend love was going to save the day. I mean, that guy – the tutor – everyone says they want him, they need him. But look how he ends up."

"Well, yeah...but that's not love," Casey said.

Derek looked at her. "You said it was 'a dark study of human passions'," he made his voice breathy at the end. "Anyway, why not? I mean, everyone says love makes us better people, it brings out the good in everyone."

"It does!"

"Say what you want, Casey, it's just another way of being selfish. You want someone until you don't, and then you leave them, or they leave you. Seems pretty selfish to me," he said flatly.

"Derek," she said. He looked at her, caught by her tone. She knew she had to find some argument that would totally crush his statement, that would make him see that –

"It doesn't have to be like that," she said simply. She searched frantically for something else, something better to add, but she couldn't. Instead, she held his gaze, willing him to believe her. They stared at each other for a long moment, until something happened – something changed in his eyes, and Casey thought that maybe–

"Ah!"

They both jumped, and turned to find Mr. Tremblay leaning against the door of his office, and looking at them. "My sister and I used to argue like that all the time." He smiled.

"Somehow, I doubt it," Derek muttered, walking past.

Casey managed a strained smile. She liked Mr. Tremblay, she really did, but she couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed by the interruption. She had the feeling that Derek was just about to say something important. She made her way back to the rest of the group with him, still feeling cheated.

She felt Mr. Tremblay's gaze on her, so she forced herself to ask, "And what are you going to do tonight?"

"I think I might go home. I feel a bit...tired. Tonight's production was made into a film, you know – and it's been a few years since I watched it. I might take the time to compare that with tonight's effort." He rubbed his hands together.

"Do you want some company?" Christian asked.

"But you have the party," he protested.

"I'm kinda tired too," Christian said. "I'm sure Casey and D won't mind. Anyway, you never know, I might learn something." He smiled at his father, before turning to Casey. "Can we talk later, when you get back?" he said in a low voice.

She nodded, wondering a little at his tone.

"Great," he said, and followed his father.

"So – are you coming, Casey?" Marla asked, digging around in her purse.

"Of course we are."

"We are?" Derek asked.

"We are," she said firmly. It was time for phase three.

* * *

It was late, and the party was in full swing – something that made Casey feel even more tired. Still, determined, she tried again.

"Oooh – she's cute! Or her – she's really hot, don't you think?" she pointed out girls from her vantage point on the stairs.

Derek stared at her. "Congratulations, Casey. Now you've ruined babe-watching for me." He got to his feet.

"Where are you going? Don't! You should totally talk to that hot girl over there!" she clutched at his sleeve.

"I'm starting to think that you should talk to her. You seem more interested, after all," he pulled away from her. "I am going to the bathroom. Let me know if you get lucky."

She watched him go. A moment later, Marla sat down in his place. "Great party, huh?" she said.

Casey nodded. "How's Hamlet?" she asked.

Marla grimaced. "In training to become a priest," she said.

"Sorry," Casey said.

"So I was thinking," Marla continued, "since you already have a cute guy, you wouldn't mind if I took the other one off your hands?" She batted her eyelashes in Casey's direction.

"No!" Casey said so quickly that she surprised herself.

"Okaaay," Marla said. "Should I be offended?"

"No!" she said just as quickly. "I'm sorry – it's not about YOU...it's about Derek."

"Most things seem to be these days," she said.

Casey scrabbled to explain. "It's like...see all these girls?"

Marla nodded.

"Think of them as...an amusement park."

"Okay," she said slowly.

"Derek's been spooked in the past. By...a bad experience with one of the rides in the amusement park."

"Not really seeing where this is going, Casey."

"So – a guy who's had a bad experience...he needs to ride the carousel first. He has to work up to the...rollercoaster."

Marla stared at Casey. "I'm the rollercoaster?" she asked. Casey looked at her apprehensively - Marla was a friend and she didn't want to offend her. "I've decided to take that as a compliment," Marla grinned. She leaned forward a little and asked, "Is that the guy who played the son tonight?"

Casey squinted. "I think so."

"He's kind of cute," she said. "I think...I'm not bored anymore." She got to her feet.

"Good luck," Casey said.

"Do I need it?" she asked, with a wink.

Casey smiled, and leaned her head against the banisters. A few minutes later, Derek flopped back into place. She elbowed him. "Hey – a little room would be nice."

Derek ignored her.

"Oooh, what do you think of her?" she asked, straightening up as she spotted another likely target.

"I think you two would make a great couple," he said.

"Derek!"

"Seriously, Case, shouldn't you be...I don't know...rejoicing on behalf of womankind or something? Doesn't this fall under 'objectification of the female form'? I thought that was 'A Very Bad Thing, Derek!'"

"...I'm having an off day," she said weakly. Then, in a more confident tone, "You should take advantage of that. Go. Flirt!" She pushed his shoulder, but he didn't budge.

"Why does it matter?" he asked.

For the second time that night, she found herself staring wordlessly at him. It wasn't that she didn't know the answer...she just couldn't say, "because that means She was special," to him.

She looked away instead.

Surprisingly, Derek didn't pursue it. Grateful for a few seconds to recover, it came as a shock when she turned around to find him staring into space, frowning slightly, mind obviously elsewhere.

She understood in a second. The music had changed, from something upbeat and bouncy, to something softer, slower.

"You had a song?!" she asked in disbelief, feeling betrayed, once again, by how un-Derek it was. She immediately decided that it had to be fixed in order for the successful implementation of phase three. And to fix the small, hurt look on his face, that made Casey feel as if she had been hurt too.

"What?" he said, coming back to himself. He shook his head. "Look, Casey, if you've finished ogling everything in a skirt, can we go?"

She looked at him. "Okay," she said. "We can go."

"Finally!"

"After this song." She stood up and held out her hand in invitation. He stared.

"You want to dance? With me?" the tone of his voice broadcast how ridiculous he found the idea.

She shrugged, embarrassed, but holding her ground. "Unless of course, that song has memories for you, and you can't bear to dance to it with someone else." This time, it was Casey's turn to sound mocking.

"Maybe I just don't want to dance with you." He stopped. "What am I saying? I DEFINITELY don't want to dance with you. Sorry – thanks but...no way."

"Tough," Casey said, unmoved. "You had your chance. I practically threw girls at you, but...you chose not to catch them."

"Your aim was way off," he muttered.

"Scared?" she asked.

"Of ending up in a full-body cast, Klut-sey? I gotta say, yeah."

"Let me put this another way," she said. "You want to go...and I'm the only one who has a key, and knows the security code. Your choice." She stood, and made her way down the stairs. A few seconds later she heard the thump of Derek following. She smiled.

"Okay," he said, with bad grace, "let's get this over with."

They stood for a second, both unsure of how to proceed, before Derek made an impatient sound and took her right hand in his left, and put his other hand on her waist. They swayed stiffly, only vaguely in time to the music.

Casey kept her eyes on Derek's face, something he couldn't fail to be aware of, even as he resolutely looked over her shoulder.

It was weird – after about a minute of arms-length awkward, grade seven dancing, they both relaxed a bit. Another minute and Casey was surprised to find that somehow or other, she was resting her head on Derek's shoulder, and they were swaying softly, like any other couple.

Memory was so strange, she thought. Here she was, dancing with Derek to a song that made him think of his ex-girlfriend – but to her, this song would always remind her of Derek, of right now. For some weird reason, the thought almost made her want to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

NOTES: Um...longer than usual - because I couldn't handle breaking this piece off and putting it in the next chapter and looking like I failed basic counting. Anyway - thanks again to all who commented. This is the bit where everything goes Dasey-shaped...I hope it's not a let down! crosses fingers.

DISCLAIMER: LWD? Still not mine.

* * *

The next morning, Christian was practical. "You can't expect to cure a broken heart in a week."

"I don't see why not," Casey grumbled. "It's Derek. It's not like he's that complicated."

"Tell me, are you always this...concerned about your stepbrothers' love lives?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"Don't be silly," Casey said. "Edwin's love life? From what Lizzie and mom tell me, I wouldn't touch it with rubber gloves."

Christian shook his head and went back to the problem at hand. "Why not focus on what you have done? I mean, yes, to most people it looks like you took a normal, functioning male and slowly leeched him of all humanity...but that's apparently what you were trying to do, so...yay you." He smiled hopefully.

Casey shook her head. "No. It's not enough. He goes home one hundred per cent Derek or not at all."

Christian said slowly, "So, if you can't fix this...problem – that no-one else sees, by the way – you're saying that...you're going to forcibly extend your stepbrother's visit?" He considered this, and in a calm, measured, and extremely firm voice he said, "Okay, tell me what I can do to help speed this whole thing up."

She looked at him. "Is Derek bugging you?" she asked. "Because if he is, I can" –

"It's not Derek...exactly," he said. "Just...tell me what I can do to help. Please."

"Okay," she said, thrown by something in his face that she couldn't identify. "Well, I do have a plan."

"You're Casey. That goes without saying." The muscles of his face relaxed as he smiled.

"I thought, how do I force Derek to go somewhere he doesn't want to go – yet make sure that he's in such a good mood that he can't help but regress to his old, immature, female-objectifying ways? And the answer came to me – appeal to that fundamental aspect of his character..." she trailed off and cast a significant look at Christian.

"His well hidden heart of gold?" he guessed, though without much hope of success.

"Have you been paying attention at all this week? No – his need to make me do the stupidest thing possible under the circumstances."

* * *

It was the last night of the drama festival, but Casey was so busy that she couldn't bring herself to feel sad, or relieved, or much of anything really.

That was, until the actors had taken their final bow, and Mr Tremblay walked out onto the stage.

"If I could have a moment of your time," he said, addressing the audience. "I'm sure you will agree, that this has been a most exciting week for amateur drama. I hope you have enjoyed the various plays and performances" – he paused, as the audience clapped, "and I am sure that you realise that an event such as this requires an extraordinary amount of planning and preparation. I would like to take a few minutes to thank those who played a significant part in this drama festival..."

Casey sat very still as he thanked various people – sponsors, stage-hands, the drama groups. To her right, Christian sat, clapping at all the right places – to her left, Derek made loud snoring noises. She shot him an annoyed glance from the corner of her eye. He didn't appear to notice, but the snoring noises became, if possible, even louder.

"...and last, but most certainly not least, I would like to thank Casey McDonald." Mr. Tremblay stopped and smiled right at her as the crowd dutifully applauded. "I can honestly say that without her dedication, passion and commitment to this, we would not be sitting here right now."

Casey felt herself blushing. Mr. Tremblay continued talking, but she only caught snatches of what he said. "...coordinated the various parties...fixed problems small and large...advertising campaign..."

He looked straight at her again, with a soft smile on his face. She couldn't help but smile back. "Finally, on a more personal note," he said, "I must thank her for re-igniting my own passion for theatre, for making old things new again, and making an old man...very happy."

Casey blinked away tears. He gestured off-stage, and Marla walked on with a huge bouquet of mostly sunflowers.

"Please accept this as a small token of our gratitude," he said, and the clapping began again. She stumbled to her feet, concentrating very hard on not falling, and made her way to the stage. Mr. Tremblay handed her the flowers and kissed her cheek, and Casey thought her face just might split in two from smiling.

* * *

It was definitely Casey's night. Mr. Tremblay had been too tired to stay for very long after that (not that Casey didn't want to spend time with him, but the plan required a tight schedule), and Marla already had plans.

Back at Christian's house, Casey rearranged her flowers once again, and waited. Finally, the television clicked off, and she motioned to Christian.

"Okay, let's go!"

"Can we run through this one more time?" he asked, looking worried.

"You'll be fine," she reassured him, and pushed him into the room ahead of her.

"Why are you so angry?" she asked him, in anguished tones. Derek twisted around on the couch.

"Um," he said. "Because – uh..."

"Work," Casey mouthed at him.

"Work! Your work! All you think about is your work! Um."

"Why is that such a bad thing?" she asked.

"I...feel like I don't know you anymore?" he ventured hesitantly. She gave a small (and she hoped, imperceptible) nod.

"Of course you know me! I think you're being immature – you know how much my job means to me!" She darted a glance at Derek to see how he was taking this. "And anyway, whenever I want us to go somewhere or do something, you say no!"

He stared at her. And stared. Finally, desperate, he mouthed, "Line?"

She attempted to whisper, "kitchen," out of the side of her mouth.

"Oh! Yes! Um – I think we need some 'us' time! I'll be in the kitchen if you decide this relationship is important!"

He stood there until Casey made shooing motions with her hands, then slunk away.

Casey cleared her throat. The scene hadn't exactly gone as scripted, but maybe Derek hadn't noticed, she thought, less than hopefully.

She sighed, a long drawn out exhalation. Then she sat on the couch next to Derek. He flicked a glance at her then went back to staring at the blank television screen.

She sighed again, impatiently. Still no response.

Finally, taking matters into her own hands, she said, "I've never seen Christian act like that before."

"I've never seen _anyone_ act like that," Derek said.

She glared at him – a glare that quickly turned into a worried look when he caught her eye.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I mean, it's like an ultimatum...I guess I should do the _sensible_ thing and talk to him, huh? I mean, it's not like I have _any other choice_," she prompted. Then waited. "...What would you suggest, Derek?"

"Acting lessons?" he advised. "Well, as fun as that show wasn't..." he stood up, obviously ready to go to his room.

Something snapped in Casey. "That's it!" she said. She stood up and marched to the coat rack, "_You_," she said, then turned back and pelted his coat at him, "are coming with me. Put that on."

She grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him into the kitchen. "We're going out," she informed Christian. "Don't forget to set the security code."

"I don't want to" – Derek began.

"You are going to have a good time, or die trying," she said through gritted teeth.

* * *

The club was loud and crowded. People squeezed by them, almost knocking Casey off her feet.

"Isn't this fun?" she screamed.

Derek said something she couldn't hear.

"What?" she shouted.

He leant closer and said, "I'm laughing! On! The inside!"

Casey ignored this. "You know what would make this" – she paused to draw a breath – "even more fun?"

"Cyanide?"

"A bet!"

"A bet?" he said flatly. Well, shouted.

"I bet that you can't get..." she looked around the club and calculated quickly, "ten girls' phone numbers."

For a moment, she was certain he was considering it – and her heart gave a happy leap...the old, unheartbroken Derek Venturi peeped out for a second. But her hopes were dashed when he turned to her and dismissed the idea, saying, "I don't have my cell phone."

"Then we do this the old fashioned way," she said firmly. She rooted in her bag and pulled out a small notepad and a pen.

He blinked.

"Ten numbers," she challenged. "Come on – I'm going easy on you." She stared straight at him. "Don't tell me Derek Venturi's lost his edge?" She made it sound as condescending and patronizing as possible.

He stared back. His eyes narrowed, and she almost smiled. She had him. "Oh, I haven't lost anything. I'm just wondering...what's in it for me?"

"...Ten girls' phone numbers," she said, as if the answer were obvious.

"But you're not risking anything," he pointed out.

She weighed certain personal embarrassment against potential success of the plan. It took very little time. "Okay, well...what do you want?" she asked.

He looked at her with a considering smirk and she began to feel apprehensive.

* * *

Some time later, and the apprehension was gone. Vanished. Melted away like a...thing that melted. Marshmallow? Butter?

"Witch!" she said suddenly, to the glass in front of her. She drummed her fingers on the table, but stopped when she encountered something sticky...only to forget a few seconds later, and begin drumming again.

Without warning, Derek appeared at her elbow, making her jump. He waved a slip of paper under her nose. She took it and studied it, blinking carefully as letters and numbers slid all over the page.

"Number six," he said.

"She has a name," Casey said with offended dignity, and squinted at the piece of paper as she tried to make it out.

"Amy," he said, looking over her shoulder.

"Okay," she said, deciding that the handwriting was different enough to Derek's (she was fairly sure Derek's writing didn't slither about on the paper like that) to be genuine. She passed him the laminated cocktail menu. "Pick my poison."

He studied it. "Toxic Waste," he decided. A few minutes later he returned with a drink even more disgusting looking than the violently orange one she had just finished.

She took a sip.

"Extra toxic," he said with satisfaction. Casey gagged.

Later still, however, and she suspected her tastebuds had been killed off. Not that that was a bad thing, she thought, eyeing the half-consumed Iron Butterfly in front of her.

She looked around for Derek, but couldn't find him in the crowd. She felt a kind of fuzzy satisfaction – he was working hard, sparing no effort to get phone numbers. And all it had taken was the promise of making her look like a complete fool. Take that, Derek's ex-girlfriend, she thought, humming happily to herself.

She glanced up a second later – and there was Derek, just standing and watching her with an odd expression on his face. Assessing. Thorough. Like she was a stranger. Or he was a stranger. Or, thought Casey in a burst of inspiration, as if they were both strangers. Then she blinked and everything slid back to normal.

"Ten?" she asked, and held up ten fingers in case he couldn't hear. Or she tried to hold up ten fingers – it was hard to be sure.

"Yeah...about that," he began, sliding over until he was next to her.

"Do you have ten numbers?" she asked implacably.

"A lot of girls are here with boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Or they say, "I'm not wearing a jumper," when I ask for their number," he made excuses.

"Try harder," she said.

"I feel like I've hit on everyone remotely female in here."

"We're not leaving until you have ten numbers." She squinted down at her drink.

"...Okay," he agreed, and she swivelled her head towards him, taken aback by his agreement. The movement felt really smooth, so she did it again. Of course, that meant she missed what Derek said, and he had to repeat himself.

He smiled, a weird smile. There was something very familiar about it, but Casey felt certain she'd never seen it directed at her before. "Like I was saying," he said, leaning close, "my ex-girlfriend just broke up with me, and I'm feeling...fragile. It would really help boost my self-esteem if I could have your number."

Casey blinked at him. "Huh?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Okay – let me break it down for you. I," he pointed to himself, "need ten girls' numbers"-

She nodded vigorously to show that she was following this.

"- and you," he pointed at her, "...are vaguely female."

She stared at him. He held her gaze. And then – she couldn't help it – she laughed. And laughed. It was just so ridiculously funny.

She grinned at him. "Nice try."

"Fine. If you really want to drink a Broken Down Golf Cart..." he shrugged.

She pulled him back down as he started to rise.

"Okay," she said, with sudden generosity.

He looked at her with interest, very still. "Are you going to give me your number?"

She shook her head. "Just forget it," she said with an expansive wave of her hands.

"But that's not fair," he said, and Casey frowned – since when did Derek care about concepts like fairness? "We agreed on ten numbers."

"Yeah, but" –

"So, are you going to give me your number?" he asked again. Slowly. Deliberately.

She opened her mouth. "...Fine," she said, eventually, choosing the path of least resistance.

He offered her the pen and paper.

"You HAVE my number," she pointed out. "It's already on your cell phone."

"That's not the object of the game," he said seriously, leaning closer. "Ten WRITTEN phone numbers – your rules."

"Since when have you ever had a problem breaking my rules?" she asked. Derek looked at her guilelessly, then leaned even closer.

"You want me to beg?" he said softly, right into her ear.

She pulled back a little – this hadn't occurred to her, but now that it had... "Hmmm – yes, I think I do."

She waited. 'Making Derek Beg' was a game she rarely got to play, so when she got the chance she savoured every moment. However, this time, even through the haze of alcohol, she could tell that something was different. The reluctance she expected wasn't there – instead Derek leaned in to her again, without a hint of unwillingness, and whispered in her ear, "Come on, Casey. Please."

It wasn't what she'd expected – a Derek Venturi asking for her help through gritted teeth. It made something in her stomach flop over uncomfortably – but then she had had a lot of really horrible drinks, she told herself hastily.

She took the pen without looking at Derek, and managed to scribble her name and number on the paper – which remained perfectly still on the table. Stupid paper, she thought. It just figured that it was on Derek's side.

Then she was done, and she handed her number to Derek, feeling unaccountably...shy. No, not shy, she decided sternly. Weird. Weird was a better word.

She stared at the table until a familiar song caught her ear. Startled, she looked at Derek, whose expression was unreadable.

"You know," he said, "there's this crazy girl who thinks dancing with other girls is a vital step in my recovery process."

Even though the words were mocking, he stood with his hands in his pockets, obviously waiting for her response.

Casey didn't say, "You're asking me to dance?" Yes, it was unexpected and...weird, but it was also a sign of returning normality – Derek going back to his old self. She resolutely ignored the fact that Derek asking her to dance was as far from normality as the moon was from the earth.

"She doesn't sound crazy," she said instead. "She sounds smart. And pretty," she added as an afterthought. She stood up. Derek grabbed her wrist and led her onto the dance floor.

There wasn't any self-conscious, gawky floundering this time. The dance floor was crowded, so they had to dance close together. They both seemed to take it in stride, though, Derek sliding both his arms around her waist, and pulling her close, and Casey putting her arms around his neck without any hesitation. It was, Casey thought fuzzily, very mature of them, really.

And it was for a good cause. It was nice that doing a good deed for someone could feel good too. So Casey relaxed into the feel of Derek's body against hers, secure in the knowledge that this was helping Derek get over Her.

Although...he had probably danced with her more than twice to this song. Maybe they sang it together on long car journeys. Maybe Derek serenaded her with the very words to which he was now swaying with Casey.

In some distant part of her, Casey realized how implausible all this was – Derek was in love, not lobotomized...but by then the damage was done. Suddenly, making Derek fall out of love seemed like an impossible task. There were too many memories to hack away, and she could feel herself being crushed under the weight of them. She pulled back slightly, and found that Derek had his eyes closed.

It was too much. She pushed herself away, stumbling slightly on her heels.

"Casey?" he said, looking confused. Well, she assumed that was what he said, since it was still pretty loud. It didn't matter anyway, because she spun around jerkily, and retreated to the only safe place in the nightclub.

* * *

"So he's dancing with me, and thinking about her. It's just wrong," Casey explained to her new best friend. She looked sorrowfully at herself in the bathroom mirror. "And now, I'm melting," she said, as if the blame for that could be laid at Derek's feet too.

"No, sweetie, that's your eyeliner," Joanna Li said. "Here." She handed Casey some damp tissue, while her friend hissed, "Do not engage! How many times do I have to tell you!"

"Thanks," Casey sniffled, wiping her eyes. "It's just...what if I can't fix him?" She looked at Joanna expectantly.

"Uh, well...sometimes you can't fix people," Joanna said. She crumbled as Casey sniffed harder. "And – and sometimes they get better! All on their own! And you don't have to cry! At all! Ever!" She patted Casey on the shoulder.

"Thanks," Casey said, before wailing, "But I promised I would fix him."

"Maybe he just needs some more time," Joanna suggested, sounding slightly desperate. "And – if he doesn't see what a great – although drunk – girl he has in you, then...that's his loss."

"Thanks," Casey said again.

Joanna opened her mouth again, just as a red-haired girl entered and said, "Some guy called Derek wants to know if there's a Casey McDonald in here?"

"There!" Joanna said with evident relief. "See? He came looking for you. He must care about you!" She pushed Casey in the direction of the exit.

"Yeah – or he knows our parents would kill him if he lost me," Casey said darkly, tucking her hair behind her ears and checking her reflection one last time. She left, bestowing a last grateful smile on Joanna, who stood and blinked.

"OUR parents?" she said faintly.

* * *

Outside the door, Derek waited impatiently. "Couldn't hold the Toxic Waste any longer?" he asked.

"No."

"Then what" –

"Are you going to get over Her?" Casey interrupted.

He stared at her. "That's what you were"– He stopped. "You're assuming that there's anything to get over."

Casey closed her eyes in defeat.

"But..." he continued, in a different tone. She looked up hopefully. "_If _there were something to get over – and I'm not saying that there is...was... – but if there were..." he made an exasperated noise, apparently giving up on that sentence. "I'm going to be okay," he said.

"Really?" she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

He rolled his eyes. "Really," he confirmed, in his 'talking to idiots' voice.

She couldn't stop the big, stupid smile from spreading across her face.

He looked at her for a long moment before clearing his throat and saying, "Okay, Spacey, I think it's definitely time for us to go."

Before she could object, he took hold of her hand, and laced his fingers with hers. She looked down at their joined hands in surprise.

"Crowded," he explained. Then he was tugging her through knots of people, towards the exit, his grip sure and warm.

* * *

"You said it was over and it was not over," Casey crooned softly into Derek's neck.

"Sssh – we agreed that this was quiet time," Derek said, raking through her purse.

"Mmm," she hummed agreeably, leaning even closer.

"You're drunk if you think that I won't drop you on your ass just because you're drunk," he warned.

She ignored this in favour of bending her head, and letting her hair fall forward, over her face. "My hair is really long," she observed. It was like being inside a cocoon, she thought dreamily – a cocoon that smelled like Derek.

She bumped her nose against his neck and sniffed appreciatively. He went very still.

"Uh – Casey...what are you doing? Earth logic please."

"You smell nice," she said, and took another deep breath. A thought occurred to her. "How do I smell?" she asked.

"At the moment? Highly flammable," he said. "Where are your keys?"

"Side pocket," she informed him. He glared at her.

Watching him fumble with the keys, a wave of sadness hit her. Derek shouldn't be here, doing the right thing and looking after her. He should be with one of the girls he'd picked up, forgetting Her. She sighed.

Derek paused with the key in the lock. "What is it now?" he asked. "I'm warning you I'm not picking up any more litter, even if it does make you sad to see the streets defiled."

"It's not fair," she said.

"Don't ask," he muttered to himself, applying himself once again to opening the door. He finally realised that the key for the side door of the theatre wasn't going to open Christian's front door, and tried another one.

"It's not fair," Casey said again. "She's done with you. You shouldn't be thinking about her all the time."

"Unless she's key shaped, I'm not thinking about her now," Derek said, finding a key that fit and twisting it in the lock. The door swung open, and he went inside.

"What happened the Derek Venturi who barely renem-remem...rem-em-bered he had a girlfriend between make-out sessions?" she asked. "The Derek Venturi that hit on every girl in sight?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "...You miss that?" he asked.

"No," she said, nodding.

"I...am really drunk," he said softly. "I must be really drunk."

"Not as drunk as me!" Casey said indignantly.

"I don't think anyone in the history of the world has been as drunk as you," he said. "...but this comes close."

She blinked. Suddenly Derek was a lot nearer. She swallowed.

"You only had two dr" –

"Casey," he said quietly, "Shut up."

His fingers grazed against her jaw and her heart started thumping. Not that there was a reason for that, Casey thought – just...it felt like a significant moment. Like something life-altering was about to take place. Not that she knew what was going to happen – or maybe it was just that she didn't want to admit she knew, she thought with a sudden burst of clarity (wasn't alcohol supposed to take care of that? she wondered). Derek leaned closer and she held her breath.

Definitely something life-changing, she thought. Otherwise, why would there be a ticking sound, like a countdown clock?

...The screeching, however, she thought a second later, she could do without. She wondered what it meant. She focused her gaze on Derek, who was looking extremely annoyed.

"Casey – the code?" He sounded really annoyed too.

She felt kind of...not disappointed – just shaky. Yes. All the alcohol had gone to her knees. That was why they were trembling. She slid down the wall, until she was sitting on the floor.

"The code?" Derek reminded her.

She heard thumping noises and suddenly Christian was there, keying numbers into the security system. The noise stopped.

Casey closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for a few minutes. When she opened her eyes again, there was no sign of Derek, and Christian was crouching down next to her.

"Sorry for waking you," she said.

"S'okay," he said. "I was having weird dreams anyway. Dad made me watch Laurence Olivier again. Shakespeare," he grimaced.

"Derek made me drunk," she said confidentially.

"I...kind of guessed."

"Sorry," she said again.

"I've never seen you like this," he said.

She looked up at him. "Is my hair a mess?" she asked.

"Yes."

She hastily tried to comb it with her fingers, only to give up when she hit a snarl.

"You look cute," he reassured her. "Maybe you should let loose more often."

She smiled at him and he froze.

"Casey..." he said.

"Mmm?"

"Just...wait there, okay?" He got to his feet. Casey watched him go, then took off her shoes. Better. She looked down at her feet in satisfaction.

"Okay – this isn't how I'd pictured doing this," Christian said, bending down to her again, "but..."

She looked blankly at him. He put a hand on her head and adjusted her gaze. She stared at the sparkly ring in his hand.

"So..." he said expectantly.

One thought flashed though her mind. "Put it away!" she hissed. "Derek will see!"

"...I wasn't expecting that one," he said. "Though maybe I should have been. Casey, this is not about Derek, and anyway, Derek" –

"It could set his recovery back by weeks!" she said. It definitely explained the sudden rock in her chest that made it hard to breathe.

"Casey, you don't have to worry about Derek's reaction" –

"Lalalalala," she said, sticking her fingers in her ears. Christian waited. She took them out. "Please," she said.

He looked at her. "Okay," he said. "Maybe this IS a bad time. How about we talk about it tomorrow – when you're sober?"

"Good plan," she nodded. The pressure in her chest eased as he got to his feet and retreated with the sparkly ring. Casey took a deep breath, and attempted to get up. She staggered to her feet with only minimum wobbling. She felt quite proud of herself, when she took the slowly spinning floor into account.

Derek appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Drink this," he said, holding out a big glass of water. "Otherwise you're going to be even more irritating than usual tomorrow morning."

She stared at the glass of water, and suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears. It was just so...so...

She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his back.

"OW!"

Casey withdrew her hands and stared at the shoes she had forgotten she was holding.

"Death by stiletto. Well, it's original, I'll give you that," Derek said, glaring at her.

He pushed the glass of water into her hands (now less full, she noticed) as he walked past. She turned to watch him as he disappeared up the stairs. She had a feeling that something important had been missed – if only she had said something different, or done something different...

She let her shoes fall with two small thumps, and sat on the bottom step of the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

NOTES: So, yes...after the fun comes the not-as-much-fun. Sorry! Again, all comments and criticisms welcome!

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I'll take one disclaimer to go. Seriously, LWD is awesome and still not mine.

* * *

The next morning began, as might have been expected, quietly.

"How are you feeling?" Christian asked, as he entered the kitchen.

"Okay," Casey said, not lifting her head from the kitchen table. "I lived through six am – I can get through anything. I did live through six am, right?"

"You're still here," Christian confirmed. He looked from Casey to the untouched plate next to her. "Peanut butter and banana sandwich?" he asked.

"And honey," she said, voice still muffled. "Fructose. Potassium. Vitamin B. Magnesium. All there."

"Shouldn't you eat it?"

"I feel better just knowing it's there," she said, and finally raised her head.

"So..." Christian began, fidgeting as he met her eyes. "About last night..."

Casey froze. "Did I do something awful? Did Derek tape it?"

He blinked. "Casey...what do you remember about last night?"

"I'm kind of...drawing a brain blank," she said apologetically. "Why – was it very bad?"

"No. No," he said. "It's...probably better this way."

"What's better?" she asked. "Wait a minute...I remember" –

"Yes?" he said.

"...was there singing? Did I sing?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd call it singing," Derek's voice broke in, "but you can judge for yourself."

Casey flinched at the sound of her own voice coming out of Derek's cell phone. They listened in silence.

"'You said it was over and it was not over! You said it was over and it was not over!'"

It seemed to go on forever.

"Make it stop," she whispered.

"That's what the homeless guy said as well," Derek said. "And all those people waiting for taxis." He gazed happily at the video of a tiny Casey stumbling around and singing off key. "I'm thinking of making a documentary – 'D-Rock: the Aftermath'...footage like this is just begging to be shared."

"That's awful!" Christian said, staring at Derek in horror.

"I know! And we haven't even gotten to the part where she begs for a D-Rock reunion!"

Casey narrowed her eyes. "Waitaminute...you said you didn't have your cell phone with you last night..."

"It's possible that I lied," Derek admitted.

She stood up. Slowly. "Give it to me," she said through gritted teeth.

"Or what? You'll subdue me with the power of puke?"

"If that's what it takes." She stared him down. "Give me the phone." She advanced on him.

"Can't we settle this in a friendly way? That doesn't involve bodily fluids?" Christian asked, eyes flicking from Casey to Derek, both of whom ignored him.

"Why don't we see how good your aim is...with a moving target?" Derek offered, dodging out of her reach, and retreating to the living room. Casey started after him, only to turn back and grab her sandwich. She took a big bite, chewed carefully, and swallowed.

"Vitamin B," she said darkly, as she began the pursuit.

Christian waited for a few minutes before deciding that he should do something useful – so he began organizing cleaning supplies. He had a feeling that this wouldn't end well.

But, when he dragged his haul into the living room, he was pleasantly surprised to find no cleaning was required.

"Everything okay?" he ventured.

Derek looked up – and Casey looked down...though that was understandable, considering that she was half-on his back, with one arm locked around his neck. They both looked surprised at the interruption.

For some strange reason, he felt the need to apologize. "Don't mind me," he said. "Feel free to just...carry on."

It probably made complete sense that they did. If he'd had a brother, or a sister, he was sure he'd do the same.

* * *

Later that day, after another peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich, Casey announced the day's schedule.

"We're going to the mall so that Derek can meet girls," she informed Christian.

"Um...not that I'm criticizing your technique or anything," he said to Derek, "but...won't it be harder to pick up girls with Casey there?"

Derek's expression didn't change. "Well, when you've got all this" – he indicated himself, "you need a challenge to keep it interesting. A handicap. And who better to fulfil that role than..." he didn't finish the sentence, but threw his arm around Casey, who presumably threw him a death glare. It was hard to tell though, with the sunglasses.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Christian asked her, when Derek was getting his coat.

She nodded. Then stopped. "Once I don't nod too much," she said. Almost as an afterthought, she added, "You don't want to come, do you?"

He shook his head. "No – you two go. Have...fun? Spend some time together...it is Derek's last day here, after all."

Casey stared at him. "Oh. Yeah," she said.

* * *

"- and don't do that! You'll break it!"

"Then we tell Marti it's post-modern art – not a problem," he shrugged, hoisting the package in his arms again.

"I mean it!" Casey warned.

He didn't respond, and they both lapsed into silence. It was weird...not that Casey had been expecting a ticker-tape parade or anything, but the re-normalizing of Derek had taken so much of her time and effort – it was a little strange for it to end so suddenly, and so...quietly. A whimper instead of a bang.

Still, she told herself as Derek made eye contact and smiled at an attractive girl standing nearby, at least Derek was back to normal.

"Hey," he said to the girl.

"Hey," she smiled back. "That's an...impressive package."

He smirked.

"Yes," Casey interrupted, "it's not like he's compensating for anything, at all."

The girl blinked, smiled in confusion, and hastily walked away.

Derek finally broke their glaring contest to remark, "In case you haven't realized, that wasn't exactly helpful."

She thought. "I know," she said. "But now that you're back to your old, immature self, you don't need me to enable you anymore."

"So you're back to sabotaging my dating prospects," he observed.

"It's the circle of life?" she offered.

He opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the beeping of his watch. He pressed a button and the beeping stopped.

"Fun as it wouldn't be to continue this..." he gestured between himself and Casey, "...that was the signal."

"The signal for what?"

"From this moment forward, my life is a Casey-free zone."

"Yeah," Casey managed. "I have the date marked on my calendar with a big red X."

They stared at each other. In spite of the beeping watch and countdown calendar neither seemed in a hurry to move.

Derek shuffled his feet and Casey blinked rapidly.

"So...I'm just going to..." he jerked his thumb in the direction of the departure gates.

"Oh. Okay."

Derek turned and walked away. Casey watched.

"Derek!"

He turned.

"...tell everyone I said 'hi'," she said.

She watched until he disappeared from view, but he didn't look back again.

* * *

"So, free at last, huh?" Christian said, when she opened the door. "How does it feel?"

He frowned as he got a closer look at her. "Casey, is something wrong?"

"I'm tired," she said. "I think I might be coming down with something."

* * *

It was three days later when Christian broached the subject.

"Is your food okay?"

"Hmm?" Casey looked up from pushing her salad around the plate.

"Your food. You haven't touched it."

"I'm not very hungry. Flu, remember?" She went back to stirring her lettuce leaves.

"Oh yeah. The flu," he said flatly.

She looked up again. "What do you mean?"

"Just that...you don't have any symptoms. Headache, fever, chills..."

She blinked. This was true. But..."I don't feel well," she said.

He breathed out. "It's okay, Casey. I know."

He looked straight at her, and her heart began to pound. "Know what?" she asked. There was no reason for her voice to sound so high-pitched. She would have wondered about that if she hadn't been so busy feeling panicky.

"It's been...weird, the last week. I mean...I really thought I knew you" –

"You do know me!" she interrupted.

"...but then Derek came, and you started acting completely different" –

"Not different! Annoyed!"

He continued as if he hadn't heard you. "And then, I figured it out. It's okay, Casey, you don't need to pretend anymore."

"Pretend?" she squeaked. There was a horrible guilty lump in her stomach – but she hadn't done anything to feel guilty about. Had she?

"I mean, I know I wasn't exactly..." he trailed off. "The past week hasn't been my finest hour," he said, with a grimace.

"It hasn't?"

"I suppose I was...jealous. Of Derek."

Casey found it hard to breathe. She was sure there was air in the room...maybe it was her lungs that had stopped working?

"I guess it comes from being an only child. I'm not used to sharing your attention. And...it's something I know I need to work on. It's obvious you really miss your family – I mean, your stepbrother leaves and you invent a fake flu to cover your depression."

"...Because I miss my family. That – makes sense," she managed.

He took her hand. "But you can talk to me, okay? Don't feel like you're alone. And I promise to be supportive."

Casey tried to smile, but concentrated on breathing. The guilty lump was still there.

"...and I know I did this wrong last time...not one of my better ideas, but, you know, jealous idiot – notice me, notice me," he made a face, "...anyway – I'm doing it for the right reasons this time, so..."

Casey looked at him with incomprehension as he produced a ring. A sparkly ring. Alarm bells went off in her head – it sounded like their security system.

"It was my grandmother's," he said.

Some response seemed to be required. "Oh," she said.

"What do you think?"

"We've only been going out for three months," she said, "Isn't this a little...sudden?" The alarm kept sounding.

"I meant...about the ring."

She stared at it. "It's...lovely." She couldn't help but return to the main issue. "But unexpected."

"Well...I guess, but – we moved in together after two months," he said. "And that worked out."

"You haven't even met my parents!"

"I know...but this," he held out the ring, "doesn't mean we're getting married anytime soon. It's just a promise for...someday."

"A very sudden promise!"

He looked at her. "Casey...is something wrong? I mean – we both knew this relationship was serious. I mean, you don't move in with someone if you don't think you have a future with them. Has...something changed?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head. It was hard to think with the ringing in her ears. But Christian was right. She knew that. "No!" she said, trying to explain. "It's just...I wasn't expecting the future to get here...so fast. It 's just...hard to get used to."

"Okay. Well, we have time," he smiled. He held out the ring, and closed her fingers over it.

It was such a small thing...but it seemed really really heavy to Casey as she stared down at it. The alarm bells got louder and louder – then stopped. And suddenly, she remembered. Before the alarm bells, before the ring. Herself and Derek, and the feeling of breathless anticipation as he leaned closer and almost...

She stood up suddenly.

"Casey, what's wrong?"

"I don't feel well," she said, as she turned and raced towards the bathroom.

She locked the door, then opened the bathroom window, and gulped in fresh air.

Christian rattled the knob. "Okay, maybe I was wrong!" he shouted. "Maybe you do have a stomach flu."

Casey caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. "I think I'm in trouble," she told it, weakly.


	8. Chapter 8

NOTES: You know you've hit an uninspiring bit when suddenly three ideas for totally different fics hit you and demand to be written!

DISCLAIMER: The LWD people seem really awesome. I'm sure they have better (and more awesome) things to do than sue me. But (just in case) - I totally don't own LWD. This is for fun, not profit!

* * *

With Christian safely dispatched to the pharmacy, Casey eyed herself in the mirror.

"Okay. First things first. I am a despicable, terrible, awful person."

Judging by the expression on her reflection's face, it concurred absolutely with this judgment.

She sat on the edge of the bath and closed her eyes. She forced down the swirling panic and tried to think.

Christian was a good person – a much better person than her, or (it went without saying), Derek – especially if he had been about to kiss her that night (and she was almost certain that he would have, if not for the alarm)...

She shook her head when she realized that she wasn't thinking about the problem at hand, and began again.

So – Christian was a good person. And she had been happy with him, until Derek (Derek! Who had almost kissed her – at least, she thought so), had come along and, in true Derek fashion, ruined everything.

But – was it really ruined? Couldn't it be fixed? Okay – so she had developed...feelings (her mind stuttered over the word) for Derek. But...couldn't she develop (or _re-develop_, she hastily corrected) feelings for Christian? After all, Christian was a good person, way better than Derek. It probably wouldn't even take a week – after all, with Derek, she hadn't even been trying!

A small niggle of doubt made itself felt at this last part, but she squashed it. Yes, that was the answer – she would retrain herself, and fall in love with Christian.

"Yes! That's it! That's going to solve everything!" she said to her reflection. Strangely, her reflection didn't look totally convinced.

* * *

The next day began with congratulations from Marla and Mr. Tremblay.

"Finally, he asked you. I thought he would never get around to it," Mr. Tremblay said, kissing her cheek.

Casey smiled. "Well, he did. And I'm really glad he did!" She smiled even wider.

"I couldn't ask for a better daughter," he said.

"Congratulations!" Marla said, squeezing Casey tightly. "You and Chris are going to be so happy!"

"We already are!" she said. "I don't know if it's possible to be happier!" She tried, but found she couldn't widen her smile any more.

"Have you told your parents?"

"Soon," Casey said vaguely.

By the end of the day, her face ached – and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and never come out again. But she was determined – the re-Caseyification had to begin as soon as possible. So, on her way home, she stopped at the DVD rental store.

"Hi," she said to the woman behind the counter. "I'm hoping you can help me. I'm looking for a romantic comedy."

The woman gestured to the packed shelves to Casey's right. "Romantic comedy section," she said.

"Okay, yes, I know that...but, you see, I'm looking for a...special type of romantic comedy."

The woman regarded her without interest.

"Would you have anything that deals with a woman's fear of commitment? I mean, let's say the lead female character is in a steady, settled relationship...but then she starts to have – doubts. And maybe she...develops feelings for...someone else."

The woman blinked. "You've just described ninety-eight percent of romantic comedies," she said, her eyes flicking to the customer shuffling his feet behind Casey.

"You didn't let me finish – so the person she's developed...feelings...for is completely wrong for her. In every way," Casey stressed.

"Opposites attract," the woman nodded. "We've got a bunch of those – take your pick."

"'_When Harry Met Sally'_ is a classic," the customer behind Casey offered helpfully.

"No!" Casey said. The woman stared at her. "I'm not really looking for an 'opposites attract' kind of comedy. I'm looking for...girl-in-committed-relationship develops weird feelings for guy who is completely wrong for her, but ultimately realises that pursuing those feelings would be wrong, and rekindles her relationship with her boyfriend – or fiancé – or husband. I'm not picky."

"Anything else?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No –wait, yes! The lead female character also manages to resolve the situation between her and the other guy – and because the deeper feelings she developed were all a wacky misunderstanding, everything goes back to normal between them, and she doesn't have to do anything drastic, like cut him out of her life. Not that she would care...just...it would be...awkward," Casey trailed off.

The woman considered this. "It sounds like you're looking for something real specific," she said. "If you had a title or something..."

Casey stared wildly at her. "I definitely don't want my stepbrother," she said, fingers grasping the counter.

"I've never heard of that one," the customer said thoughtfully.

The woman blinked. "That sounds kind of...kinky," she said finally. "Are you sure you're in the right section?"

* * *

In the end, Casey made do with the next best thing.

"Wow – that was...graphic," Christian said, and winced. "That poor girl."

"It wasn't her house – she shouldn't have gone in there," Casey disagreed.

"Well, yeah, but...did she deserve to be decapitated?"

"There are rules," Casey said. "You get punished if you break the rules."

"...Okay, I see your point – but she made one tiny mistake. I'm thinking it would have been easier for her boyfriend to forgive her than cut off her head. That's what I would have done." His eyes returned to the screen. "Less messy."

Casey looked at him. "That's because you're a really good person," she said.

"I'd like to think it's because I'm a _sane_ person," he said.

* * *

One sleepless night later and Casey realized that retraining herself wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped. Still, she was certain that the books she picked up from the bookstore would give her the answer. Okay, so she hadn't been able to buy anything that dealt specifically with her situation, but she was sure that the books she had chosen would help. Bad habits and self-destructive cycles were all the same, really, weren't they? Whether you were talking about an unwanted attraction to your stepbrother or –

"_Saying NO to Nicotine_" Christian read. He stopped. "Casey...you don't smoke."

"I know," she said, turning a page. 'Tip five – take one day at a time,' she read. She could do that.

"Have you ever smoked?" he asked.

She looked up immediately. "No!" she said, sounding distressed. "I would never betray you like that!" She firmly banished all thoughts of alarm systems from her mind.

"Um...thank you," he said, picking up '_Control Your Cravings'_, and reading the back. He frowned.

"Casey – you are one of the healthiest people I know...why do you need a book about sugar addiction?"

She blinked up at him. "Sometimes...I get cravings," she said.

"I have news for you. Everyone has cravings."

"Not like this," she said darkly.

"Okay – like what?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Casey – it can't be that bad."

"Yes it can! I mean, wanting something that's bad for you...thinking about it all the time – that's bad!"

"Well, have a little bit of what you want. That should get rid of the cravings," Christian shrugged his shoulders.

Casey looked at him in horror. "It would make everything worse," she said.

"I don't see how."

"What if a little piece isn't enough?" she asked. "What if you have to have more, and more? What if you can't stop? What if you want this – food – all the time?"

"No food could possibly be that good," Christian said.

"But what if you know it would be?" Casey asked.

"How could you know that?"

"...reviews. From...satisfied consumers," Casey hazarded. She sighed. "And you just know. It would be _good_," she closed her eyes. "You think about it all the time – and you know that if you let your control slip, for just one instant...just one taste..." her breathing speeded up, and she shivered.

Christian looked at her with concern. "Well, admitting you have a problem is supposed to be the first step."

* * *

Okay, so it wasn't as easy as she had thought it would be. Still, she was developing a routine that was bound to pay off eventually.

She got up, and didn't think about Derek. She went to work, and didn't think about Derek. She came home, and didn't think about Derek.

Really, she thought everything was going okay until, three days later, Marla said –

"Earth to Casey!"

"Hmm?"

"I was asking you about the programmes for the musical?"

"Oh! I left them...somewhere," Casey said, looking around frantically.

"It's okay – I'll find them," Marla said. She sighed. "Look, I know you're probably doing your Casey thing – but the wedding is a long way off, and 'Oliver!' is in a week's time. So, could you come down from cloud nine and stop thinking about...I don't know, dresses and bridesmaids and flowers, or whatever you're thinking about – and start concentrating on the here and now?"

Casey stared at her. She was supposed to think about other things too?! Not thinking about Derek took up most of her time.

* * *

"Okay, I want to be supportive, I do...but – tofu again?" Christian said. "I thought you were done with that. Shouldn't you be eating a more varied diet?"

"Tofu satisfies all my needs," Casey said, with a determined motion of her fork.

"I know. You've said that, but...isn't it kind of boring?"

"Tofu isn't boring!" Casey exclaimed. "Tofu is healthy, and good for me, and would never let me down – and I know that. I know how lucky I am to have – it."

"So...you're just going to eat tofu for the rest of your life?"

"...Why would I need other foods, when I have tofu?" Casey asked.

In spite of this declaration, things got slightly more complicated at night, when she dreamed of Derek feeding her rich chocolate cake, one sweet, sticky mouthful at a time.

* * *

"Casey – I was just on the phone with Ms. Hanley from the school," Mr. Tremblay said, frowning. "You've double-booked the stage for tomorrow night. 'Oliver!' should be having a run through with sound and lighting, but you've also pencilled in next week's group."

"I'm sorry! I'll fix that," she apologized, already picking up the phone.

"No need," he said, holding up a hand. "I've spoken to both directors. But – it's not like you. You've seemed...a little distracted the past few days. Is something wrong?"

"No. No. Nothing's wrong," Casey said, trying to avoid his eyes. "Why would anything be wrong?"

Mr. Tremblay ignored this. "Is it Christian? Have you two...had a falling out?"

"Me – fall out with Christian? How could I do that? He's perfect," she said.

He looked at her. "Christian is many things...but perfect, I think, is a slight exaggeration."

She forced a smile.

"If anything is wrong – you do know you can always talk to me," he said quietly.

Casey nodded.

He held her gaze for another moment before wandering back to his office. Watching him go, Casey felt a lump in her throat, and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to run after him and tell him the whole stupid story.

"Okay, you have got to tell me where you keep that de-clawing kit," Marla said loudly, breaking the spell, and making Casey jump, "because if I double-booked two groups, he would kill me."

* * *

Casey idly picked up the little bell on her desk. It made a tiny tinkling sound that in no way reminded her of security system alarm bells. She was interrupted from not thinking about security systems and cocktails and drunken leaning, and possibly (almost certainly) kissing, when Marla cleared her throat, and placed Casey's ring in front of her.

"You left it by the sink in the bathroom again," she said. "I swear, one of these days someone is going to take it."

"Thanks," Casey said, hastily putting the ring on.

Marla looked at her. "Casey..." she began. "Is something wrong? Because if something is wrong, you could talk to me, you know?"

"Nothing's wrong," she denied instantly.

"We're all worried about you," Marla said. "You're not acting like regular Casey."

"Yes I am," she said.

"Regular Casey doesn't say things like 'You're a terrible person' every time she passes a mirror," Marla argued. "Regular Casey doesn't double-book rehearsal times. Regular Casey doesn't freak Chris out because she can't sleep. Or eat anything apart from tofu."

"I've been having weird dreams," she protested weakly.

"Chris thinks you're worried about your parents," Marla said bluntly.

Casey frowned.

"Because you haven't told them about being engaged." Marla studied Casey carefully, then said in a different tone, "Chris is a really good guy. If he's going a little too fast – you should just ask him to give you some space. I'm sure he'd understand."

Even though Casey meant to, she found she couldn't say she didn't want any space.

"Thanks," she said instead.

* * *

Casey's panic increased once the deadline of a week had passed. Despite an almost all-tofu diet, pointedly not-thinking about Derek, and careful reading of her chosen books – her feelings remained unchanged.

'Take it one day at a time,' she thought, with a venomous glare at '_Saying NO to Nicotine_.' Taking it one day at a time hadn't fixed things, had it? She dropped the book into her desk, and slammed the drawer shut.

It was while she was at this low ebb, that temptation reared its head.

As she walked home from work, her cell phone rang. She fumbled with her bag, found her phone and answered it.

"Casey! Hi!"

"Hi, mom," she said. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine. Fine," Nora said, sounding slightly distracted. "Casey...about Derek" –

"Mom," Casey objected.

"I know, I know, I'm breaking the new phone rule about never mentioning Derek's name...but this is really important. Please, honey?"

She opened her mouth to protest again, then stopped. After all...it wasn't as if _she_ had been the one to crack and ask about Derek. Her mom had brought him up. And what harm could it do to talk about him? Not-thinking about Derek wasn't working so far – maybe talking about him would remind her of how annoying he was, and solve her problem! She squashed the little voice that gleefully said it was a bad idea (the one that, funnily enough, sounded like Derek) – and asked, "What about Derek?"

"I...don't really know how to put this, but...since he came back, he's been impossible."

"Don't mention it," she said airily. Right or wrong, it still gave her a small glow of satisfaction when she remembered her successful re-Dereking.

"No...I mean he's been IMPOSSIBLE."

"No need to thank me."

"He stinks!" another voice chimed in, very definitely.

Casey frowned. "Marti, what are you talking about?"

"Casey – what did you do to him?" Nora asked.

"Nothing," she said, confused. "I restored Derek to his usual, obnoxious self. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

She heard George in the background. "Let me talk to her."

"No, no. This is my fault. I gave the job to Casey" –

"And what's wrong with that?" she demanded.

"Nothing, honey, but – I guess I should have seen this coming...you've always been such an overachiever..."

"What?" she asked, starting to feel worried. "What's wrong with Derek?"

"You've done a great job," Nora said, with desperate cheer. "In fact...that's the problem. Derek's become impossible."

"Derek's always been impossible," Casey objected.

"True," Nora allowed. "But this time...he's even more impossible than usual. He's..." she paused, searching for an explanation. "Imagine Derek...times ten."

Casey imagined this, and it momentarily robbed her of speech.

"Change him back!" she heard Marti say.

"I don't understand," she said, almost to herself. "When Derek left here, he was...Derek. You know – normal. For Derek."

Nora sighed. "Well something has changed, because he's not that Derek anymore."

Casey's mind whirled. "Do you want me to come down there?" she asked eagerly. "I'm sure I could – I was thinking of coming down for Marti's birthday anyway. I'm sure Mr. Tremblay would give me the time if I explained" –

"No!" Nora said hastily. She cleared her throat. "Not that _we_ wouldn't be happy to see you, but with Derek the way he is...I think you might make things worse" –

"But" – Casey began. Faintly, she heard a door close.

"Oh – that's Derek now! We should go – bye Casey!"

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Put him on the phone."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea..."

"Mom! Come on – just for a minute...so that I can judge his behavior for myself!"

Nora was silent, but she didn't hang up the phone. A moment later, Casey heard –

"Hi Derek! Um...Casey's on the phone – do you want to say 'hi' to her?"

"Okay," she heard him say.

"Derek" - she began, hunting desperately for something to say next. Fortunately, she didn't have to think of anything, because the next thing she heard was the dial tone.

She stared at the phone in her hand for a minute. Then she phoned the airport, and booked a flight home.


	9. Chapter 9

NOTES: Okay, this piece is saved on my computer as 'not fun' - and that tells you everything you need to know! It's all fun and games until someone's heart gets broken. Anyway - not very fun to write, and probably not very fun to read. Sorry about that. :(

DISCLAIMER: After what I've done here, it should be pretty obvious that I don't own LWD.

* * *

She was going to cancel the flight. She was. She had known, even as she was making the booking, that it was a mistake. So she was going to cancel. Even if talking about Derek (and almost talking _to_ Derek...and why had he hung up?) had made everything worse. Even if it made Casey feel like she had to see him right now and FIX HIM until he was just the right amount of obnoxious...she kept bumping up against one crucial fact. It wasn't fair to Christian.

She made the decision just as she reached the house. Wearily, she opened the door, and shut it behind her. She leaned against it for a moment. Just for a moment – until she could swallow down her crazy need to go home –until she could find the energy to focus entirely on Christian.

"Hey!"

She straightened up hurriedly, and pasted a smile on her face. "Hi!" she said.

Christian looked at her with amusement. "Forget something?" he asked.

"Was I supposed to pick something up?" she ventured, trying to think.

He held out his hand. The ring sparkled accusingly at her. "You left it on the kitchen table this morning," he said. "We need to insure this thing as soon as possible..."

She stared at his palm. There was a sense of the inevitable, as it all slotted into place.

"Casey – what's wrong?"

With a weird kind of calm, she said, "I can't do this."

"...What?" he said, and she realized that she had said it out loud.

Suddenly, she was gulping for air – because it was true – she couldn't fix this. "I can't!" she stared at him, shocked but unable to stop herself. "I just can't. I can't!"

"Okay, okay – let's move the meltdown to the couch," Christian said, gripping her arm and steering her to a seat.

"I tried," she told him, eyes fixed on his. "I really, really tried – but I can't do this."

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, rubbing her shoulders. "I get it, I get it. I went too fast, and I freaked you out. So why don't we just put this away for a while," he dropped the ring onto the coffee table, and put '_Control Your Cravings'_ on top of it, "...and just relax."

She stared at him and shook her head desperately. "You don't understand. I can't do any of it." Her voice wobbled.

Christian went very still. "What do you mean, you can't do any of it?"

She looked at him. "This! I can't do this. Not just the ring part," she wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried. I really really did try."

"Casey, you're not making any sense," he said, voice tight with tension. "There's a problem. I get that. But how about calming down, and talking to me, so that we can fix it, instead of...freaking us both out!"

"I can't fix it," she said.

"So tell me, and _I'll _fix it," he sounded exasperated.

She had to look away. "You can't," she whispered. She stared up at a corner of the ceiling, eyes burning, and Christian said, slowly, "You're breaking up with me."

"...I'm sorry," she said again.

There was a horrible silence. She heard him swallow.

"Okay," he said finally, in a loud, bright voice that made her flinch, "Explanation?"

She looked at him. "I – just" –

"Can't do it. Yeah. I got that part," he said, eyes meeting hers then flicking away quickly. "But, you know, you didn't have a problem a few weeks ago. So, I'm thinking that something happened. I'd kind of like to know what. If you don't mind."

Casey looked at him. She had no idea what to say. "I – I don't" –

"Don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

"It's...not" – she tried. How could she explain it to him – she could barely understand it herself.

"Okay – how about I run some possibilities by you? Would that help? Okay. Number one – you don't think I listen to you."

"Christian" – she began, shaking her head, but he kept going.

"Not that? Number two, you don't think I'm supportive enough." He paused for a second. "Not that either? Number three, there's someone else. Number" –

Something in her face must have given her away, because he said, disbelievingly, "There's someone else?"

"I'm sor" –

"Who?" he asked.

This was it. The moment of truth. Because Christian was right – she really did owe him an honest explanation. Even if she still didn't know HOW to explain it.

She closed her eyes. "...Derek," she said.

When she opened her eyes again, Christian was staring at her. "If that's the set up for some kind of weird joke, I have to tell you, it's not funny."

She made a choky sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "It really really isn't," she agreed, tired.

"You – and Derek," he said. "You and DEREK? You told me you hated him."

She forced herself to look at him. "It's...complicated."

He laughed, humourlessly. "You're telling me!" He shook his head. "Hey, it's probably my fault too – I mean, who believes what their girlfriend tells them, anyway?" His voice wobbled towards the end of the sentence, and he stared at the floor.

"I thought it was...I didn't mean for this to happen," Casey tried to explain, hating the small sound of her voice. She went on, desperately, "As soon as I figured it out, I tried to stop it...I've been trying."

"So all this," he gestured at Casey, "crazy stuff has been about Derek. Not me and you."

She didn't answer.

"Wow," he said softly, "I guess I really don't impact on your life at all, huh?"

This had gone horribly wrong. "That's not true," she denied immediately.

He ignored that, and said, "Did you two..." he trailed off, staring at her like he couldn't believe what he was saying. She answered him anyway.

"No! No," she said again. "I mean" – she fumbled slightly, thinking of the drunken almost, but that had been a drunken almost-kiss, not what Christian was thinking. She said, simply, "Nothing happened."

"Oh, yeah," he said, voice raw. "I forgot – non-smoker. Let me guess – you didn't inhale, right?"

It hurt. It hurt because despite the drunken almost, she really, truly, didn't think she would have done that to Christian. But then again, she thought wearily, this week had shown her that she wasn't such a good person after all. She settled for saying, again, "Nothing happened."

"But you wanted it to," he said, quietly. She couldn't deny it. He looked away. "Yeah. Okay," he said, and grabbed his keys off the coffee table. He strode towards the door.

"Christian – where are you going?" she asked in alarm, getting to her feet.

"You know, it almost sounds like you care," he said matter-of-factly, before he closed the door.

* * *

After leaving three messages on Christian's (switched off) cell phone, all Casey could do was wait. So she sat, gritty-eyed, on the couch. One hour became two became three became four – and finally, Casey began to think that he wouldn't come back that night. She still didn't move.

The sound of the phone actually made her jump.

"Christian!" she gasped, picking up. "Are you okay?"

"Um..." said the voice on the other end.

"Marla," Casey said, disappointed. "I'm sorry, but I really can't talk right now – I can't tie up the phone" –

"It's about Chris," she said. "He's here with me. Maybe you could come and collect him – he's a little the worse for wear."

"Of course!" Casey said, "Just tell me where 'here' is, and I'll be there!" She could hear music in the background. 'Here' was obviously some bar. She jumped to her feet and looked around wildly for her keys.

"Yeah – we're..." Marla tailed off, and Casey listened intently, but Marla had obviously put her hand over her phone.

"Um...Casey," Marla sounded mortified, "Chris wants me to tell you that – uh – he won't be back tonight. He's going to stay with his dad instead."

"Oh," she managed. She cleared her throat. "Would – Marla...could you make sure he's...okay?"

"Sure," Marla agreed rapidly, still sounding embarrassed to be caught in the middle. "Sure thing, Casey. I'll walk him to the door, I promise. I'll – uh – I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Casey said, sitting back down with a heavy thump. She hung up the phone, and sat in silence for a minute, thinking about the many ways she had messed everything up. It was obvious that Christian hated her. Not that she could blame him – and she didn't see how this could end without hurt and pain...but it felt so wrong. How could she have turned from someone he cared about, to someone he couldn't stand to be in the same room with.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she got up, and numbly began to pack up all her stuff.

* * *

The next morning she waited for as long as she could – just in case. But there was no sign of Christian and finally, she couldn't wait any more. 'The Merchant of Venice' cast would be leaving after the matinee, and the 'Oliver' set would be going up. It was going to be a busy day – and like it or not, it was time to face the musical.

When she arrived, she waited ten minutes before knocking on Mr. Tremblay's door. Her stomach rolled as he called out, "Come in."

She stood in the middle of the carpet, while he scribbled things down on a sheet of paper, without looking up at her.

Finally, he said, "Well?"

"I – I thought...maybe you might want to see me?" she stammered. "After last night...?"

Now he did look up, eyes cold, and for the first time, Casey understood that all those jokes Marla made about him, weren't really jokes at all.

"Not particularly – but I suppose you're right. Unpleasant as it might be, we should talk."

Casey swallowed, and then charged ahead. "I just wanted you to know how sorry" –

"I was wondering what your plans are," he said, cutting across her words as if they meant nothing to him.

"Plans?" she asked, startled.

"I assume you don't intend on staying here now?"

She looked at him, dizzied by his abruptness. "I-I have a flight booked for tomorrow morning. To go home," she added. "That's probably not enough notice," she said, desperately filling the silence. "I can cancel" –

"Please don't," he said. "It would probably be better for everyone if you left."

She concentrated on breathing in and out, because if she stopped to think about Mr. Tremblay (Mr. Tremblay who had laughed with her and given her sunflowers and discussed books and plays with her), looking at her as if she were his enemy, she would cry.

She blinked hard, and nodded.

"When were you thinking of coming back?" he asked, calmly continuing the interrogation.

"I – hadn't really thought" – she said, trying very hard to keep her voice from wobbling.

"Then let me give you a piece of advice. Don't," he said, simply.

She looked at him. "But" –

"Don't you think you've done enough damage?" he asked. "Or have you not hurt my son enough? Maybe you want to cause more problems?"

She stared at him. Whatever she said (and really, what else could she say except 'sorry'?) she knew she had to try.

"I am so sorry," she said. Even though it was a whisper, it scraped her throat on the way up. "I never meant to hurt Christian. Or you."

He said nothing for a long moment. He breathed out, hard, and suddenly, he wasn't a cold stranger any more, but the Mr. Tremblay she knew. He looked at her with eyes full of disappointment, and that was the hardest thing of all.

"Casey – please. Just go. I'm very tired, and I...can't look at you right now."

Pain shot right through her stomach. She nodded, stiffly, and walked out the door on legs that felt like they were made of paper.

Mechanically, she made her way backstage, and got a box. Then she made her way back to her desk, and started emptying her drawers.

"Casey, have you seen...what are you doing?" Marla was standing in the doorway, frowning.

"I have a flight home tomorrow," Casey said. She threw her copy of '_Saying NO to Nicotine'_ into the box.

"And you need to empty your work desk for a visit home?" Marla asked. She shook her head. "This is about yesterday."

Casey didn't say anything. She packed her copies of play programs carefully.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Marla said, in a different tone.

Casey looked at her. "I never thought that."

"Chris is a really good guy," she said.

"I know." She smoothed her program for '_Five Finger Exercise'_ carefully.

"Are you coming back?"

She looked up again. "Yes," she said. "Even if it's just to…" she stopped.

"To what?" Marla pressed her. "To say goodbye? To tidy up loose ends?" She stared at Casey. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, before Marla turned away.

* * *

It took a long time for Casey to walk back. Partly because her legs were shaking, and partly because…she really, really didn't want to go back there.

So she went to the park, and sat on a bench, and tried not to think about how Mr. Tremblay always managed to arrange the lunch breaks so that they had a chance to talk. Or how excited he had been about the drama festival. She especially tried not to think about how thrilled he had been when she and Christian had finally started going out, after two solid weeks of Mr. Tremblay doing everything in his power to throw them together. "Finally! I thought something was wrong with him – how could he not see how good you would be together!"

That led to not thinking about the look of hurt on Christian's face. It was still so unbelievable – how could she have hurt him? They had never even had a fight.

By the time she felt ready to go, her eyes were swollen and sore, and it was getting cold.

She didn't expect to see Christian when she opened the door – and judging from the look on his face, he hadn't expected to see her either. They both froze for a long moment.

He looked tired, and Casey couldn't help it, she asked, "How are you?"

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

"You don't waste time," he said eventually. "Your stuff," he clarified, jerking his head towards the stack of boxes and cases.

"Oh," she said. She didn't know whether to apologize or not. Did it seem like she didn't care – that she just wanted to get out? "I thought…it would be better if I left."

"Yeah. Okay," he said.

"I'm going home tomorrow," she said. "I have a flight."

"That was fast," he said.

She continued quickly, ignoring this. "I can find somewhere else to stay for tonight. If you want."

He looked at her. "It's one night," he said. "What does it matter?"

Unsure of what to do, she nodded. "…Okay. Um –thank"-

He turned and walked away before she could finish.

She spent the night in the spare room. Derek's room. She pulled sheets that still smelled like him around her, and pretended she didn't find it comforting. In the darkness, she said aloud, "This is all your fault, you know."

She dreamed that she was wearing a wedding dress that was far too tight, and dancing with Derek, while Christian watched from the sidelines. It was a relief when the alarm went off.

Christian was there when she came downstairs, and they continued their new habit of staring at each other without knowing what to say.

"You're really going," he managed finally.

She nodded, then stopped. "...I can't take all my stuff with me," she said, embarrassed. "But I can arrange" –

"I'll send it on," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

They stood in silence again, and Casey took a deep breath. "I really am sorry," she said.

"I don't believe this," he said, shaking his head, slightly desperate. "You are going to come back in a week's time, and tell me that this," he gestured between them, "is a huge mistake. Everything is going to go back to normal, and we – we are going to laugh about this."

"I hope so," Casey said, and tried to smile. She knew, though, that even if it did turn out to be a huge mistake, there was no going back.

Christian must have known as well, because he looked away. "That was stupid," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Pretend I didn't say that. That was completely stupid."

She tried to think of something to say, but then she heard a car horn right outside.

"The taxi," she said. "...I should go."

He nodded.

She grappled with her cases, then shut the door carefully behind her. The end, she thought, and suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to go home.


	10. Chapter 10

NOTES: So, yes - I was going to end this in a more fun place, but it grew. Still, it's more fun than the last chapter (though that's not really much of an endorsement). Have some more set-up...it's delicious?

DISCLAIMER: Same as for all previous chapters - LWD is still crazy awesome, and still not mine.

* * *

There was, of course, one small problem. Just one? Casey thought tiredly – that made a change. At least this one probably wouldn't end with tears and recriminations and reasons-why-Casey-was-a-terrible-human-being. At least, she hoped not.

"Hi mom," she said.

"Casey, hi! Is it your day off? I'm sorry – I'm a little busy right now, but I can ring you back" –

"No!" she said. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm coming home." she added.

"Oh...do you really think that's such a good idea?" Nora asked. "I mean – we'd love to have you, but with Derek...I mean, he's been so moody lately. And, by lately, I mean 'since he came back from visiting you.' I'm just not sure that the Derek-and-Casey show is going to improve the situation," she said apologetically.

Casey closed her eyes, and wondered where to start. Maybe breaking the news of her sudden lack of employment, housing and secret boyfriend/fiancé wasn't phone-appropriate? Etiquette probably demanded a face to face conversation. Well, if etiquette demanded it, she thought with exhausted relief, who was she to argue? She just had to think of something...

"Marti's birthday!" Casey said suddenly. "I mean...what about Marti? Shouldn't we be thinking about Marti, instead of Derek? Why should Derek's behaviour direct our actions?" Okay, now she could add 'lying to her mother' on to the list of no good, horrible, very bad things she had done.

"Casey...are you okay? You sound a little..."

Okay, make that 'lying badly to her mother'. She sighed, and closed her eyes. "I just...really want to come home," she said finally, honestly.

There was a silence, and Casey wondered what her mother had heard in her voice, because her next words were, "Of course, honey! It's your home. You know you're always welcome here. Just let me know when" –

"Now," she said.

"Now?"

"I'm at the airport," she said.

"Oh," Nora said. She suddenly sounded overwhelmed. "Okay! Um – so I have a meeting with Marti's teacher this morning and then I have to pick up Lizzie for a dentist appointment...I'll talk to George – maybe he can pick you up...don't worry, Casey, I'll organise something."

"Thanks mom," she said softly.

* * *

When she saw Derek, she actually stopped for a moment. The shock of it, the...thereness of him almost overwhelmed her. Just for a moment – because then the guy behind her crashed into her, and she almost lost her balance. Derek stared at her, unimpressed.

"Nicely done, Grace-y," he commented.

"Derek," she said. There was a rushing sound in her ears that made it hard to think. "Um" –

He held up both his hands. "Why don't we skip this part," he said, "because, as far as I'm concerned – you're not here."

"I'm...not here?" Casey asked slowly. For a minute, she seriously considered this. It was possible that this was a dream.

"No – why would you be? After all, I'm living in a Casey-free zone right now. So I DEFINITELY didn't have to take time off from work to pick you up and drive you to the house where you won't be staying. You see how this works?"

She blinked. He turned and began walking.

"Derek! Derek, wait!" she called out, struggling with her cases.

He turned back. "Sorry," he called, in a voice that didn't sound particularly apologetic, "But I'm preserving the purity of the zone." His hands described a bubble in the air.

She stared at him. "You're not even going to help me with my bags?" she said in disbelief.

"If you were here, I'd point out that I'm a firm believer in equal rights. Which means that you get to carry your own stuff."

He walked away again. Casey hefted her cases and started after him. This was not what she had expected. She dodged a small child, and weaved her way through a small crowd of people. "Sorry. Excuse me!"

She hadn't expected...well, she didn't know what she had expected, really, since she hadn't had time to expect anything. But if she had – she definitely wouldn't have expected to be ignored by Derek, while carrying around two very heavy cases. And, okay, yes, she had messed up spectacularly, and done some terrible things – but she hadn't done them to Derek. And it had been a really hard week...and the last two days – the word 'hard' didn't even begin to describe them.

It was the final straw. She stopped. And waited.

A few minutes later, an intensely irritated Derek returned, to find her sitting on her largest case, arms folded.

"Okay," he said, very slowly and carefully. "_You_ need to get with the schedule, so..." he motioned her up with an irritated wave of his hand.

"What schedule?" she asked. "Maybe _you_ have a schedule. In case you'd forgotten, _I'm_ on vacation."

"And I'm sure you're just dying to spend it in the airport," Derek pointed out, with an 'I think not' face.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," she said. That was certainly true. "How about you, Derek?" There was a slight edge to her voice.

He glared at her. Then grabbed one of her cases. His eyes narrowed as he took in the weight of it. "Just how long will I have the pleasure of ignoring your company?" he asked suspiciously.

She feigned an intense interest in her other case and pretended not to hear him. He didn't press it, and they hauled her luggage to the car in silence.

As he opened the door, he asked, extremely casually, "Are you sure you're okay to travel? Cause you look like you're seconds away from redecorating my car with whatever you had for breakfast."

She avoided his eyes, as she sat into the passenger's side. "Your car is safe," she said, rolling her eyes. "I have a virus or something." She looked out the window while he studied her, and only relaxed when he started the car.

For the duration of the drive home, she watched his hands on the steering wheel. Maybe the virus thing was a lie, she thought – but she was definitely infected.

* * *

"So I guess I'll see you later then?" Casey called, as she shut the trunk.

The only reply she got was the rev of the engine as Derek pulled away.

"Okay! Later!" she said. Then she set about hauling her cases inside.

It was quiet inside. Casey took a deep breath, and felt some of the tension melt away. For the first time in two days, she had space to think. She was home.

She dragged her cases up to her room. She would unpack, she decided, and then...review the situation. But when she opened the door to her room, she stopped.

Toys covered the bed, and most of the floor. Slowly and carefully, she entered, meeting the glassy eyed stare of crocodiles, elephants and giraffes. She opened her wardrobe, only to find an enormous bear holding a heart between his paws. She hurriedly shut it.

She settled for clearing a large patch of the floor for her suitcases. Then she turned to her bed, knocked off the assorted hedgehogs and puppies and...an armadillo? Until finally, she was ankle deep in stuffed animals, but the bed was invitingly clear. She would just lie down for a little while, she told herself. Just a few minutes...then she would get up and figure out what she was going to do.

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep. And for the first time in days, she didn't dream about anything.

When she woke up the room was dark, and for the first time in a long time, she felt rested. Calm. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and made her way downstairs.

In the kitchen, Lizzie and Edwin pored over something on the kitchen table, while Marti hunched over a bowl of cereal, all in black, like a sparkly spider.

"Hey!" Casey said, feeling a moment of almost shyness when everyone looked up at her. But two minutes later, an armful of Marti and Lizzie had taken care of that.

"Casey! We missed you!" Lizzie said.

"Welcome home," Edwin began.

"We thought you were never going to wake up. You missed dinner – but Nora said not to wake you," Marti said, over Lizzie and Edwin.

"I missed you guys too," Casey said, overwhelmed. She stood back a little and blinked. "You are so tall," she said to Marti. "When did that happen?"

"She's wearing shoe lifts," Edwin said.

"And she wears a lot of vertical stripes," Lizzie added.

"Um...why?"

"To spite dad," Edwin shrugged.

"Again – why?"

"It's a classic adolescent-adult power struggle," Edwin commented wisely.

"Actually, it's more of a freak-George-out kind of move," Lizzie disagreed.

"Well, whatever it is," Casey said, smiling at Marti, "you are still adorable."

Lizzie and Edwin sucked in identical pained breaths. Marti looked sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Casey, but you used the 'A' word – that's a five dollar fine."

"What?"

"Don't you think you could let Casey off with a warning this time?" Nora asked as she entered the kitchen, dropping the laundry basket on the floor and hugging Casey. Casey closed her eyes, and turned her face into her mom's hair, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and perfume. Home, she thought again, and she felt herself relax further.

"I'm sorry, Nora – I wish I could, but you make one exception to the rules and suddenly...anarchy."

Nora raised her eyebrows, and Marti capitulated. "Okay, fine. Just don't tell George I let you off."

"George?" Casey mouthed at her mom. Nora rolled her eyes. "Don't ask," she said. "We saved you some dinner – it's in the fridge if you want it. Sorry about your room, I didn't have time to tidy" –

"It's fine, mom," Casey reassured her, then asked, "But...what's with all the toys?"

"George," Marti said darkly.

"George," Nora confirmed with a sigh, before picking up the laundry basket again.

"So, Casey," Edwin said, peering around her to make sure Nora was out of earshot, "Great to see you – always a pleasure...can I ask you a question? How do you feel about bear costumes?"

Casey blinked.

"I thought we agreed that plan wasn't viable," Lizzie said.

"Yeah, but that was before we had Casey," he disagreed. "If she practiced in the suit, I'm sure we could nail the timing."

"Um, guys?" Casey raised her hands. They turned to look at her. "Explanation?"

"Okay – before you say anything – just study these charts," Edwin said, handing her some documents. Casey frowned down at the first one. "What am I looking at?" she asked.

"See that? That line represents life in the McDonald-Venturi household when Derek was last – for want of a better word – happy. Pre-breakup, in other words. This" - he pointed at a red line that began in the middle of the page, "represents life in the McDonald-Venturi house post-breakup. Note the sharp decline."

"I'd forgotten how weird you guys are," Casey murmured. "Okay – what's this line?"

"That," Edwin said, "represents the quality of Edwin Venturi's life since Derek and Claudia broke up." He took the sheets back from Casey and carefully straightened them. "I think you'll agree, the evidence speaks for itself."

"Well, if it does, it's speaking a foreign language. I need a translator."

"We're trying to get Derek and Claudia back together," Marti said. "So far, we suck."

"What? Why?"

"So that life in the McDonald-Venturi household can get back to normal," Edwin said. "Did you not see the charts?"

The relaxed feeling was slowly disappearing, to be replaced with a sense of dread.

"You don't know what it's been like here," Lizzie said.

"Yes I do!" Casey argued. "In case you've forgotten – I spent a week getting Derek back to normal. Now you're trying to undo all my good work just because there's been a bit of a set-back?"

"I wouldn't call it a bit of a set-back," Lizzie said. "He's been" –

"Impossible? Yeah – I got that impression. But maybe that's because no-one will let him forget – Her. Whatever her name was."

"Claudia," Marti reminded her.

"She was pretty great," Lizzie said.

"She smelled like orange-blossom," Edwin sighed, then shook his head. "Anyway, we tried the 'pretend she never existed' strategy. It didn't work."

"So now you're trying to force two people into a relationship because it makes things easier for you?" Casey tried to force down her panic.

"Pretty much, yeah," Edwin said.

"It will make Derek happy too," Marti objected.

"It's not just about making things easier for us," Lizzie said. "If you studied graph three, you'll have noticed that when Derek is depressed, his energy consumption goes up. Way up. Look at his carbon footprint! It's huge! This situation is bigger than just us – we need to reunite Derek and Claudia for the sake of the planet!"

"Breathe, Liz," Edwin said, putting a hand on her shoulder, while Marti pushed a glass of water across the table to her. Lizzie took a sip. "I'm sorry – just...have you seen his carbon footprint?"

"I still don't think that's a reason to trick people who broke up – probably for very good reasons – into getting together," Casey argued.

"I agree."

They turned, to find a laundry-basketless Nora observing them with her arms folded. "What did I say about the matchmaking schemes after last time?"

"To give up," Lizzie said.

"Really? I thought she was telling us to hold off until we had a sure fire winner," Edwin said.

"Derek will get over it when he's ready," Nora said. She sighed. "Whenever that is. Until then...we just have to be there for him."

"Oh I'm there for him," Edwin muttered. "I'm there – cleaning his car, usually."

"And I'm there – watching him destroy the natural resources of our planet. The _only one_ we have," Lizzie said.

"That's the spirit!" Nora said, and Casey nodded vigorously.

"I think Nora and Casey are right," Marti said. Everyone turned to look at her. She wore an expression of innocence that was deeply suspicious. "Why don't we talk about something else? Like...my birthday party." She smiled widely. "Casey – you'll help out, won't you?"

"Of course," Casey said.

"You all heard that," Marti said, suddenly businesslike. "That constitutes a verbal contract."

Casey frowned. "...What?"

Nora opened her mouth only to be shushed by Marti as the front door opened and closed.

" – And movie night officially begins," George said, holding out two DVD cases. "Hey Casey!" He bestowed a one-armed hug on her, then looked around the kitchen. "Where's Derek?" he asked.

Nora shrugged. "He said something about extra study for his class – he left right after you did."

"What did you get?" Edwin asked, gesturing at the DVD cases. "Please say '_Demon Racer'_."

"I thought we agreed on '_An Unfortunate Certainty'_," Lizzie said.

"Well..." George said, "I was in the store and I got to thinking..." The misty look on his face didn't inspire confidence. He turned to Marti. "Remember when you were little" –

Marti groaned and snatched the DVD cases from him. "'_Pocahontas_' and '_Sleeping Beauty'_?" she asked in disbelief.

"Remember how you used to watch them over and over?" George said, and sighed. "You were so...adorable..."

Marti held out her hand, and George absently paid out five dollars. "I thought it would be nice to watch them again."

"Sorry, George" –

"Dad," he corrected, sounding distressed.

Marti ignored this. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in my room, pretending to study."

George watched her go. "'Dad'," he said to Nora. "It's three little letters – way easier to pronounce than 'George.'"

"We've discussed this," Nora said. "When you stop treating her like she's still a child, she will stop acting like an adult."

"The legal definition of a child is" –

"Whatever your definition," Nora hastily interrupted, "she's a little old for stuffed animals and cartoons."

George stared wistfully after Marti. Casey got the feeling that he wasn't really listening.

* * *

In the end, movie night consisted of Casey and George.

"I don't see why Marti didn't want to watch this," George said, as he watched Aurora twirling in the arms of Prince Philip. "It's got everything – mystery, a scary bad guy, and it ends with a happily ever after."

"But what happens next?" Casey asked, as Aurora's dress changed from blue to pink to blue to pink.

"Well, the...ever after," he said. "Marti used to love this bit."

"But can she really expect a happily ever after?" Casey's voice rose. "I mean – think about it...she's known him for...how long? A day? Is that any kind of basis for lasting happiness? And what if she changes? I mean – she hardly knows who she is...how can she be expected to commit to something as big as forever? Especially when she's having doubts and feelings for someone else."

George frowned. "I don't remember that bit. Is it in the deleted scenes?"

* * *

It took a moment for Casey to place the feeling that woke her. It wasn't stress or worry...and after a whole week of nothing but stress and worry (and tofu), she almost didn't recognise it. Hunger.

It was probably wrong, she thought as she quietly padded downstairs, that along with the guilt and regret and pain, there was a huge sense of...relief. And freedom. After days of being trapped in her own thoughts, it felt like she was finally...present. And, guilty as she did feel about everything, she couldn't bring herself to feel entirely bad about that.

The light in the kitchen was on. Casey quietly crept over to see Derek investigating the contents of the refrigerator. She just stood and watched him.

He turned around, with a can of soda in each hand, and carrying a bag of chips in his mouth. He started when he saw Casey, and the chips fell to the floor.

"It's a good thing I'm not here," Casey remarked, "to see you freak out over nothing."

He glared at her. "That delusion lasted about...ten minutes. A very happy ten minutes, but..." he trailed off.

"So," she said, "How did the studying go?" She stopped. "...I can't believe I just asked you that." It was weird. Although, maybe not, after the Disaster that had been Derek's college career. Still, failure had an upside, if it meant that Derek was actually applying himself for once...Casey swallowed as she realized that they had been staring at each other for a while, and that Derek didn't seem to have any intention of answering her question.

There was a frown on his face – as if he were trying to see right through her. She had no idea what he was looking for, so she just waited, and thought about...almosts.

"Why are you here?" he asked eventually.

She considered. She could lie, and say her visit was because of Marti's birthday...but she already knew, from the thumping of her heart, that that wasn't what she was going to say. Because, really, hadn't she been waiting for this? A quiet moment with Derek – an opportunity to tell the truth and...see what happened? It was why she had watched cartoons with George, instead of taking the opportunity for a heart to heart with her mom. Because – because...didn't Derek deserve to hear it first? Especially if he had almost kissed her, and she was (nearly) certain he had.

He was still staring at her. Only one way to find out. She took a deep breath. "Christian and I broke up."

Something flickered in his eyes – too quickly for her to decipher it – then his face assumed a bland, unreadable expression.

"Huh. That's too bad." He picked up the bag of chips. "Well, I've got to go." He brushed past her.

She blinked, then turned to follow him. "'Huh'?" she said, indignantly. "'Huh'? I nurture you through one of the most painful periods of your life – and then, when it's my turn, 'Huh' is all I get?"

He considered this. "Yeah."

"I would have thought that even someone as emotionally immature and self-centred as you would be able to come up with something better than 'Huh'!"

"Guess you over-estimated me," he shrugged, and opened the front door.

She narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong. There was definitely something...off...about Derek's reaction.

"This is not the end of this," she warned darkly.

"Funny - it kind of looks like it to me," he said, shutting the door behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

NOTES: Yes - so I left it in a frustrating place last time. Also, I wanted to add in some corrections to previous chapters (thanks Admiral Lily!) so - birds...stones... Also, hey - Derek motivation!

DISCLAIMER: Love LWD, but unfortunately, don't own it!

* * *

The next morning began with Nora helping Casey unpack her cases (the enormous bear in the wardrobe had mysteriously vanished), and ended with a long mother-daughter talk about Christian and broken engagements.

"I'm sorry," Casey sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I thought I was done with the crying."

Nora rubbed her back comfortingly. "It's okay – that was a hard thing you did. But...if it makes you feel any better – it was the right thing to do."

"I really hurt him," she said.

"He was going to get hurt anyway," Nora said.

"And that makes it okay?" Casey asked.

"No," Nora put her arm around Casey, who snuggled into her shoulder. "But think about it...would it have been right to keep pretending you felt the same way he did? Was that fair to him?"

"I guess not," she said.

"It's not easy to hurt someone else's feelings," Nora said, "but...your feelings matter too, Casey. And if you're not happy..." She sighed. "With your dad...I mean...you tell yourself that nearly happy is – enough. But almost right...that's still – wrong."

Casey tilted her head to look up at her mom and frowned. She had a moment of weird double vision where she was seeing her mom not just as her mom, but as a separate person, with her own pains and heartaches and hard decisions. And those decisions, Casey thought, were probably even harder than hers had been. After all, her mom had had her and Lizzie to consider.

She hugged Nora hard, and Nora smiled down at her. "Well – we're making good time here," she pretended to consult her watch, "I mean – it's eleven am and we've already identified the problem, talked it through, cried it out...you got anything else you want to lay on me?" She put up her fists as if she was ready to box all of Casey's problems into submission.

Casey considered it for a moment – but the Derek stuff was...still too confusing. "I think we've shared enough for today," she decided.

* * *

She didn't see Derek until Marti's emergency meeting that evening. And even then he was late, dropping onto the couch next to Casey, while Marti said, loudly –

"Okay, now that we're all here..." and glared at him.

Casey ostentatiously opened her notebook, as Marti began.

"We have less than four days to my birthday party," she said. "If Operation NBP is to be a success, it's really important that we all know exactly where we're supposed to be, and what we're supposed to do" –

"What's Operation NBP?" Casey whispered to Lizzie, who was on her other side.

"Operation Normal Birthday Party," Lizzie whispered back. Casey nodded and made a note of it. Derek watched the bobbing of her feathered pink pen with disgust.

"_Timing_ is crucial," Marti continued, with a speaking glance at Derek.

"Hey, Smarti, have I ever let you down before?" he said, spreading his arms wide.

She looked at him pityingly. "Yes," she said and sighed. "I'm trusting you anyway. So – we know from our double agent" - Nora inclined her head at the acknowledgement, "that the first part of the party – the bowling alley – is really a ruse to get us out of the house in order for the enemy agent, also known as George, to carry out his plan. Casey and Derek – you two are going to infiltrate the enemy agent's camp and" –

Casey raised her hand.

"Yes?"

"Um – agents...camps...infiltrating? George is the enemy?" she trailed off in confusion.

Marti stared at her. "Our double agent informs me that he has a video tribute called 'A Marti Montage'."

"There's a cake with Marti's face on it," Nora added.

"And there are photos missing from our family albums," Edwin said.

Casey considered this. "Infiltrate enemy camp," she said, scribbling it down in her notebook.

"Unfortunately, our double agent won't be much help here – she's going to be supervising at the bowling alley. However, she has ordered a normal birthday cake, which the two of you can pick up before you continue on to the house. You and Derek are going to arrive here ten minutes before the guests," Marti explained. "While Lizzie distracts the enemy agent, you two are going to...re-normalize the living room. That means no Marti-cake, no banners, and no photos. Your schedule is pretty tight, so if you don't have time to deal with everything – prioritize. The most important thing to remember is," she closed her eyes, "NO NAKED BATHTUB PICTURES."

She looked sternly at Casey and Derek. "Do you think you can handle it?"

Casey nodded fervently, while Derek rolled his eyes. "Relax," he said.

Marti ignored this. "Edwin is in charge of destroying the Marti tribute video – plus, he can buy you guys a few minutes if the guests arrive early."

"Only a few minutes though," Edwin cautioned. "Reaction to my outdoor magic show hasn't been – entirely positive."

"Okay – so are we all clear?" Marti asked.

"Clear!" everyone chorused.

"Good," she said, then, more hurriedly at the sound of a key turning in the lock, "Then this meeting of Operation NBP is dismissed!"

She turned around with an innocent expression as George entered.

"Hey...everyone," he said, looking around at the assembled faces with surprise. "What's going on?"

"So," Nora said quickly, "Who's hungry?"

There was an immediate (and not entirely faked) clamour for food.

"Great! What's for dinner?" George asked, hanging up his coat.

"Why don't we go find out," Nora said, pulling him into the kitchen.

As everyone got up, Casey tapped Derek on the shoulder. He turned around with a less than inviting look on his face.

"So," Casey said brightly, "I had a talk with mom today. About the breakup. And...I'm feeling a lot better. I even went for a walk."

"How _do_ you stand the breakneck pace?" Derek asked.

Casey ignored this. "I stopped by that theatre – you know, the little one with the..." she trailed off as Derek tipped his head back, obviously uninterested. "Anyway, I picked up two tickets for a show. Tomorrow night." She smiled encouragingly.

"But there's only one of you," he pointed out.

"You could come with me," she managed through gritted teeth.

"But I don't want to. As a matter of fact, it's top of my 'to not do' list."

Casey's patience snapped. "Hey – I was there for you when YOU were going through a painful breakup. Is it too much to ask that you do the bare minimum required of a decent human being?"

"Yes!"

"You owe me," she said menacingly. "I have chosen the entertainment. I have bought the tickets. The least you can do is show up."

"Actually, the least I can do is – not show up," he said. "I know I'm aiming really low here – but with the proper lack of motivation," he smirked at her, and she was left in no doubt that 'lack of motivation' referred to her, "I think I can manage it."

She took an angry breath in – then paused, and released it. She smiled. It wasn't a comforting smile, given the wary look on his face.

"Okay, Derek – if that's how you want to play it," she said. "Game on." She walked into the kitchen.

It took him a few minutes to follow.

* * *

She got her opportunity half-way through the meal.

"Casey – George and I are having dinner with the Martins tomorrow night. Are you going to be okay on your own? Maybe you and Lizzie could catch a movie or something," Nora smiled encouragingly.

"Sorry Case, no can do," Lizzie said apologetically. "I have a really big project due next week, and I need to get started on it."

"That's okay," Casey said. "I have two tickets to a theatre production tomorrow night. I asked Derek to go."

Silence fell at the table.

"Why?" Edwin asked finally.

Derek looked up from his plate. "Yeah – but Derek said no, so you began making alternative arrangements, right?"

"No," Casey said. "I began thinking that Derek really didn't have a choice in the matter. Can I have a show of hands – who thinks it's unfair that Derek can't humour me for one night, when I had to entertain him for a week?"

Hands were raised around the table. Derek glared at her. "Entertain me? You made me hand out flyers at the mall!"

"It got you out of the house!"

"Derek – Casey's going through a rough patch at the moment," Nora intervened. "And she did try to help you when you were going through..." her hands made big circles in the air, before she gave up. "What I'm saying is – I'm sure you could manage one night of being pleasant to Casey..." her voice wavered at the end of that sentence.

"I wish I had your faith in me, Nora," Derek said, insincerity thick in his voice. "But I don't know if I have the...sensitivity...to handle a delicate weed like Casey, so...I'm going to have to pass."

"Not good enough! I demand my pound of flesh!" Casey stopped when she realized everyone was staring at her. She cleared her throat. "Sorry – the last play we staged was 'The Merchant of Venice'."

"...It really doesn't seem like a lot to ask," George added his opinion.

"George is right," Marti agreed.

"Thank you," he said, grimacing. "And it's _dad_. Remember?"

"Casey did it for you," Lizzie pointed out, bringing them back to the issue at hand.

"I don't know - the dealbreaker should be the play – is it Russian?" Edwin asked.

Derek glared at Casey. "Okay – show of hands...who thinks that Casey has suffered a recent blow to the head if she wants my company at some artsy-schmartsy event?"

Once again, hands were raised across the table.

"Mom!"

"I'm sorry, honey, but...Derek? In your hour of need? Really?"

"Maybe she has a temperature," Lizzie offered.

Derek smirked and Casey narrowed her eyes. Then, she leaned back in her seat, and crossed her arms. She had the satisfaction of seeing his expression change.

"You know mom – this was a really good meal," she said. "But I have some great recipes to share...Derek certainly seemed to appreciate them..." She smiled at Derek, whose eyes widened. Casey turned to Nora, and asked, "Have you heard of Tofu Sur" –

"WHAT TIME" – Derek cleared his throat and continued in a normal voice, "is this thing?"

Casey smiled.

* * *

Unfortunately, Derek continued his recent streak of being an even more obnoxious pain in the butt than usual. He only appeared twenty minutes before the curtain was scheduled to go up, walked so fast that Casey couldn't keep up with him in her heels, and ignored her attempts to make conversation in the interval.

Of course, the final straw came when, after the show, the little old lady who had been sitting in front of them claimed Casey's umbrella as her own.

"I'm sorry – I think there's been some sort of mix-up," Casey said politely, "that's mine."

The old lady tugged it from her grasp, "Of all the...are you saying I don't recognize my own umbrella?!"

"No," Casey said. "Well...yes. That's definitely mine – I remember bringing it with me. Tell her, Derek," she urged.

Derek turned to the woman with a sympathetic smile on his face. "Is this girl bothering you?" he asked. "Cause she's been driving me crazy all night. I think she's a little..." he made a 'mentally unbalanced' face.

"You jerk!" Casey thumped his arm. Derek pasted on a look of noble suffering.

"Oh," said the old woman, examining Casey closely. "Now that you mention it, I do see...very sad. But this," she held up the umbrella, "is mine."

"Of course it is," Derek reassured her.

She spared another glance for a now speechless Casey. She tutted. "Very sad," she said again. "I really don't think she should be allowed out in her condition." She hobbled away, still shaking her head.

"That's what I keep saying," Derek said in a low voice, dodging another blow.

* * *

Of course, when they got outside, it was raining.

"Perfect," Casey said, standing under the awning. "I'm so glad I don't have an umbrella or anything." She glared out at the street.

"Well," Derek gestured left, in the direction of their house, "Let's get going."

Casey crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere until the rain stops. I'll get wet!"

"Don't tell me – I've seen this movie – then you melt, right?"

Casey aimed a look of pure loathing in his direction. "You are just going to have to wait until this passes." In a quieter voice, she said, "Despite what you seem to think, talking to me for five minutes won't actually kill you."

Derek looked down at the ground.

Casey swallowed. "So" –

"You know – I think I'd rather not take the chance," he said, shrugging off his jacket, and offering it to her. "Now – can we speed it up?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.

Casey watched him walk off, without looking back to see if she was following. Slowly, she put on his jacket. Okay, she thought, pushing down her disappointment, if Derek was determined to be an enormous jerk, what could she do? At least it went to prove that the almost-kiss had clearly been a figment of her imagination. If Derek had feelings for her, surely he would have done something...said something. At least now she knew for certain how Derek felt about her. Make that – didn't feel about her.

She put her hands in the pockets of the jacket and began walking, only to stop as her fingers brushed against something. She pulled out a small folded piece of paper from the right jacket pocket. She opened it up, and blinked. On the paper, in her handwriting (though admittedly shakier than normal) was her name and phone number. She frowned, remembering the weirdness of that night. She had given him her phone number...and he had kept it.

She hurriedly felt in the jacket pockets again, but there were no other scraps of paper, no other phone numbers or names. Just hers, crumpled and creased and with very marked fold lines. From being examined?

She gazed after Derek, still walking ahead, and she felt a new burst of energy. Some things, she decided, were going to be straightened out, right now. Whether Derek liked it or not. And hey - even the rain was stopping. She strode forward, determined.

* * *

"- and this is where I say goodbye," Derek said, as he stood on the sidewalk beside their house.

"No," Casey disagreed, still slightly out of breath. She had only managed to catch up to Derek a few minutes previously. "THIS is where you explain what your problem is."

Derek looked at her with disbelief on his face. "My problem?" he asked. "Well, it's about this tall," he held up his hand at Casey-height, "and answers to the name 'Casey.'"

Casey glared at him. "I mean it! Fine – you're feeling bad because the girl you like broke up with you. But you know what? You're not the only one who's going through a breakup. And it seems to me that EVEN YOU could do the decent thing and find some shred of understanding in what passes for your heart and NOT try to make me feel worse!"

"Seems logical," he agreed carelessly.

"So why are you acting like such a jerk?"

He stared at her for a moment, eyes hard. Finally he said, "...I guess it's because I don't buy your breakup story."

"What?" she asked, completely confused.

"Since your boyfriend showed me an enormous diamond ring the first night of my visit...I don't know – breakup doesn't seem likely to me, for some reason."

She blinked. "You – knew about that," she said slowly. She thought back over Derek's behaviour during that week. He had known Christian was going to propose before she did?

He smiled cheerlessly. "The guy ate tofu for three days without complaining, and whenever we had a minute alone he _would not_ shut up about you. I'm thinking that even YOU couldn't mess that up in a week."

Sensing that she was losing ground, she hit back with, "Wanna bet? And what are you saying – that I've faked a breakup for...what purpose exactly?"

"Oh no," Derek said, crossing his arms, "I believe that _you_ believe it's a breakup, when in reality, it goes more like..." he let out a small impatient sounding sigh, and assumed a high pitched, breathy voice, "'My life is just...too perfect! How am I supposed to cope with this lack of drama?!'" He stopped. "That was you, by the way."

"That's what you think?" she said, blinking. "You couldn't be more wrong! And – even if you were right – which you're not...would it kill you to be a little more supportive? I was completely there for YOU!"

"And who asked you to be?" he said, raising his voice. He stopped. "You know what your problem is?"

"Oh, suddenly _I'm_ the one with the problem?"

"You can't stand it when something isn't about you!" he continued, ignoring her words. " You take a situation that is one hundred per cent Casey free – and you just keep poking at it and poking at it until it's ALL ABOUT YOU" –

Casey blinked.

"And you know what the worst part is?" Derek continued ranting, clearly on a roll, "you even manage to convince other people – sane, rational people, who were DEALING with their problem JUST FINE – that it's all about you" –

"Derek!"

"So that suddenly they have a bigger problem" –

"Derek!!"

"- than they started out with, because now? It IS all about you and" –

"DEREK!" she shouted, putting her hands on his shoulders.

He stopped.

"Shut up," she said. And kissed him.


	12. Chapter 12

NOTES: Yes, I failed basic counting. Sorry. Also, I may have said this before, but thanks to everyone who's sticking with this. I finish an update, and I look over it thinking 'and we're NOT THERE YET?!' - so thanks...you guys have the patience of saints!

DISCLAIMER: LWD is not even a little bit mine.

* * *

There was one horrible moment when she thought she had misjudged everything, because Derek just stood there, unresponsive. She began to pull back, already thinking of damage limitation (maybe she could claim temporary insanity?). But then Derek's hands were on her waist pulling her close again, and his mouth was opening beneath hers, and they were really kissing, reckless and desperate. Her fingers were shaking as she ran them through his hair – because this...this was serious – she could feel it. This time, the ringing in her ears wasn't from an alarm. This time, the crazy flip-flopping in her stomach could not be put down to a revolting combination of cocktails. This time –

Suddenly Derek's hands were on her shoulders, shoving her backwards and breaking the kiss. Caught off guard, she stumbled over her own feet and lurched sideways onto their front lawn. There was a slight squeaking sound as she slid on the wet grass.

"Derek!" she glared at him. He didn't seem to notice – and Casey frowned at the lack of pointing and mockery.

He held out both his hands and breathed deeply. "Okay," he told himself, in the very calm voice of the completely freaked out, "okay..."

"You are paying for the dry-cleaning," she said, staring down at the grass stains on her dress and attempting to lever herself to her feet. This seemed to make him aware of her presence. He turned to her, and with a weird, panicked look on his face, he gestured at her and said, "Rewind! Rewind!"

She stared at him. "That doesn't work in real life. You idiot." She stood up and brushed herself off. Her eyes met Derek's and (lips! Kissing!) she froze momentarily. She shook her head and gathered herself. It was completely unfair to expect her to be sensible and rational – the memory of a few minutes before hadn't even had a chance to cool, but...

"Before we go any further...I think we need to talk," she said.

He shook his head vehemently. "No," he said, "Nonononono. There will be no talking!"

Casey opened her mouth, and his hand shot up in front of her face, silencing her.

"There will be no talking," he continued in a slightly calmer voice, "because nothing happened. So there's nothing to talk about," he ended threateningly.

"But don't you think" –

"Nnn!" he interrupted her. "I don't think, remember? You should try it sometime – it's very relaxing."

"But"-

"Nnn!" he cut across her again. "No talking! No thinking! Nothing happened!"

"Yes it did!" Casey disagreed, glaring at him.

"Prove it!" he said.

"What?"

"No witnesses," he pointed out. "It's just your word against mine, and I say nothing happened." He folded his arms.

She looked at him in disbelief. "It was a kiss," she said, "not a mafia hit."

"Well, whatever it was – or wasn't – as of now, it sleeps with the fishes," Derek said.

Casey sighed. "This," she gestured between them, "hasn't exactly been a dream come true for me either. But...ignoring it doesn't work. Take it from me" –

"I don't want to take _anything_ from you," he interrupted, hands crossed in front of him to ward off whatever she planned to offer.

Casey closed her eyes in frustration. "Derek – you can try, but there's no way you can deny the feelings behind that kiss" –

He shook his head, apparently fine with denial.

" – the suppressed emotions" –

He held out his hands as if to say, 'what suppressed emotions?'

She sighed as she went for the lowest common denominator – "...the tongue?"

He waved his arms in front of her face as if batting at invisible flies.

"Now that we've established that it happened" – she said very carefully, "we should discuss our next move."

Derek stared at her, tilting his head to the side. Slowly, he straightened up, suddenly composed. "Yeah – why don't we do that?"

Casey blinked at this unexpected attitude change.

"I guess I'll leave it up to you to tell Nora – that is...unless you've told her already? Or do you think we should tell our parents together? What about the sibs? I mean, they have a right to know too, don't you think?" He paused, taking in her silence, "Come on, Case, what does it say in your game plan?"

"I...hadn't really thought that far," she admitted. "I mean...this is kind of sudden." She'd sort of thought that there'd be time to get used to the weirdness of her and Derek, before springing it on the rest of the family.

"Yeah, but you just can't deny these suppressed feelings, right?" he said sarcastically. He shook his head. "Why don't you just admit that this is one big fake-out? You're a little freaked because you've got your life all figured out - and now you want to take a walk on the wild side. But, here's the deal – I'm really not interested in taking a stroll on the mild side with Casey McDonald, so..."

"What are you talking about?" Casey asked in confusion. "It's not like that." She looked straight at him, willing him to understand.

He stared back at her for a second, before something snapped. "Okay – you want to know how I _know_ this is a fake-out? I can prove it."

He took hold of her wrist, and pulled her towards the house.

"Hey! HEY! Derek! Heels!" Casey complained, as she stumbled along after him. He took no notice.

"Hi Casey, hi Derek," Lizzie said, absently looking up from her books as the door banged open, then shut. Then, "Bye Casey, bye Derek," as Derek towed a still-complaining Casey upstairs.

He let go of her wrist once they were in her room, only to turn his attention to her drawers.

"What are you doing?!" she demanded. "Derek – that's my stuff! What is wrong with you, you freak?"

Heedlessly he threw items onto the floor and her bed. He unearthed a bra in a particularly vivid shade of pink, and stared at it for a long moment. She snatched it away from him. He shook his head and returned to the task at hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked again, enunciating clearly.

"Proving my point," he said.

"By trashing my room?"

"That's just an added bonus," he said, confident again. "Any second now, and you'll see..."

* * *

Two hours later, and Casey was slumped against a mountain of stuffed animals, too tired to interfere. Clothing littered the floor, the doors of her wardrobe were open, and the bedspread had been pulled off her bed. She regarded Derek as he muttered and checked under her mattress. He ran his hands through his hair and she noted that his hair was no longer the careful kind of messy that took time to create, but actually messy, with bits sticking up weirdly.

"Okay," he turned to her in frustration. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" she asked tiredly.

He looked at her in disbelief. "The ring?" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"What ri – Christian's engagement ring?"

He waited.

She opened and closed her mouth. "Do you just not understand the concept of 'breaking up'?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," he said, "...now tell me where it is."

She stared at him. "How do I explain this?" she wondered. "Okay – when a boy and girl try very hard to make a relationship work, but find they can't...they _break up_. The girl doesn't keep the engagement ring if she's not going to follow through on the engagement."

"So let me get this straight – you don't have the ring?"

"Tell me Derek – did they ever run tests on you in school? Because this is..." she ran out of words.

He cast a look over the wasteland of her bedroom. "I may have made a slight – very slight – miscalculation," he said. He quickly got to his feet. "Well, no harm done – I'll be on my way..."

She stuck her foot out in front of him, barring the way. "Does this mean we can talk about what happened?"

"Talk about what? Nothing happened, remember?"

She let her foot drop to the floor. Her head fell back against the wall, and she regarded the ceiling with detached despair. "You're going to be really stupid about this, aren't you?"

The sound of her bedroom door closing was the only answer she got.

* * *

If she hadn't already known that Derek was going to be difficult, the next day would have removed any doubt. He appeared to have disappeared off the face of the planet. He had set his cell phone to divert, so she couldn't get in touch with him that way, and his co-workers denied all knowledge of a Derek Venturi when she called his work number.

And now, halfway through dinner, Casey had finally given up hope that he was coming. She stabbed a piece of chicken on her plate, and began thinking about her next move. He was probably expecting her to ambush him at his place – but maybe she could double bluff him and –

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the banging of the door. She hurriedly straightened and turned in her chair, looking calm, cool and collected as...the bear from her wardrobe entered the room?

She blinked as a head appeared from behind the bear. It was a girl, attractive and annoyed looking.

"Claudia!" Edwin exclaimed. "How nice to see you!" He smoothed his hair, and smiled winningly.

Casey blinked. This was Derek's ex? The girl who had broken his heart? She was...short. Pretty in a very groomed kind of way, but she wasn't the unreal creature Casey had conjured up. Of course, she was feeling less threatened, thanks to last night...she shook her head and concentrated on the situation at hand.

George looked between the girl and the bear, then turned to Marti. "What is Claudia doing with Mr. Snuggles?" he asked.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes, dumped the bear on the floor and addressed the table, hands on her hips.

"Look, you guys – you have got to stop doing this. Seriously! I mean – yeah, sure, I like you, and it was great while it lasted, but...Derek and I are over." She fumbled with her purse. "Ed – I appreciate the effort, but Derek really isn't the kind of guy who sends love-poems. And even if he was...these are really bad – so please stop writing them."

She set down a sheet in front of Edwin. Casey cast a glance at it, and was able to see that he had rhymed 'Claudia' and 'la-di-dah', before he covered it.

"And you," Claudia said, turning to Lizzie, "Please stop sending me information about endangered species – I really don't want to know how getting back together with Derek is going to bring back the ivory-billed woodpecker." She turned to Marti and sighed. "And, Marti, please...no more stuffed animals – I just don't have the space."

George looked at Marti. "You gave Mr. Snuggles away?" he asked, a look of shocked betrayal on his face.

"I've never had to do this before, but – it's not me...it's you" –

"Are you breaking up with us?" Edwin asked, disbelievingly.

"We've had some good times – but I need some space," she said. "I think it would be better if we didn't see each other for a while."

She turned and marched out.

Nora glared at Edwin, Lizzie and Marti. "Okay, you guys – this has gone far enough! Now I realise that Derek has been" –

"A pain in the butt?" Edwin offered.

"- difficult," she continued, "but he is still your brother, and the best thing you can do right now is _be there_ for him – that means listening to him, being sympathetic, and most of all – _no contact with Claudia_."

At that moment, Claudia popped back into the room, all traces of annoyance gone. "Sorry, Nora – I can't believe it slipped my mind – but I ordered that dress in the colour you wanted. You can pick it up on Thursday. And once again, might I say that the blue was an inspired choice on your part?"

Nora flinched under the weight of so many accusing stares. "Don't look at me like that! It was a simple business transaction...it's bias-cut, steel-blue silk...the real crime would have been to leave it behind!"

"It is a great dress," Claudia agreed. Tilting her head to the side she appeared to notice Casey for the first time.

"How much?" George asked.

"Hi," Claudia said warmly.

"Um...hi," Casey offered.

"It's an investment," Nora argued. "Your cousin's wedding is in two months time."

"Waitaminute – you must be Stacey!"

"Casey," she corrected.

"Yeah, right," she examined Casey closely. "You know, you're really different to what I'd pictured."

"Why – what had you pictured?"

"A squint, for one, plus some major facial deformity – but you...you have potential. I could work with you." Claudia smiled brightly at her. "Ask your mom where my boutique is – we stock a range of styles and sizes, and I'd love to see you again!"

She turned and walked straight into Derek. Silence fell over the table, and Casey leaned forward – a chance to observe Derek and his ex should not be wasted. If only she had her notebook!

"Claudia," he acknowledged.

Her gaze fixed on his t-shirt and she shook her head. "Derek," she said in a disappointed voice, "I know you're hurting, but...olive? Seriously? It just makes you look pasty."

With that, she swept away.

"Bye, Claudia," he called, without turning his head. Everyone shifted guiltily in their seat.

"Do we really have to have the talk again?" Derek asked. "There's one rule – it's not hard! Do not interfere in my love-life! Do not call Claudia – do not write to Claudia – do not email her– do not send singing telegrams to her – do not" –

"Derek's right," Casey interrupted. Her heart started beating faster. She couldn't believe what she was about to do. Everyone's head swivelled around to face her, but she ignored them in favour of staring at Derek. He looked at her, suspicious, and she raised her eyebrows defiantly. You wanted a big gesture, she thought. Some part of that must have gotten through to him, because he had a 'you wouldn't dare' expression on his face.

"I don't think anyone should try to set Derek and Claudia up anymore," she said calmly, holding Derek's gaze. Oh wouldn't I, she thought. "At least, not until we've worked though _our_...thing," she clarified, unable to find a better term for...whatever she and Derek were doing.

There was a stunned silence that George eventually broke. "Casey, Claudia's a nice girl, but you've only just met her. It's a little...sudden, don't you think?"

"George," Marti rolled her eyes.

"I don't think Casey was talking about Claudia, George," Nora said, in a very quiet, dazed voice. "I...think she was talking about – Derek."

Upon hearing his name, Derek unfroze. He pointed in the direction of the door, and said, "I just remembered, I've got to..."

He didn't even pause at Nora and Casey's combined shout of, "DEREK!"

"You and Derek?" Lizzie said. "Ew."

"May I be excused?" Marti asked. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in my room, pretending I have a normal family."

Edwin stared sadly down at his plate. "And now, I can never eat chicken again," he said.


	13. Chapter 13

NOTES: Yes. So. Party-time! It...all goes a bit mad here, even for me, so I hope it still works.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own LWD.

* * *

When the knock came on her bedroom door, Casey was completely prepared.

"I'm ready," she informed her mom, who sat down next to her on the bed.

"Good," Nora said.

Casey waited. And waited. "Are we _not_ having a Serious Talk?" she asked, hopefully.

"No, no, we are." Nora cleared her throat. "Casey..." she began, only to stop.

"I think..." She closed her mouth.

She tried again. "I feel..."

Finally, she sighed in frustration, "I got nothin'. Sorry."

"What?"

"I just...never expected that we would be having _this_ Talk," Nora said, almost apologetically. "I have so many other Talks all prepared – Managing a Career and Family, Following Your Dreams, Finding the Will to Succeed in Spite of Seemingly Insurmountable Obstacles..."

"That last one seems relevant," Casey muttered, one insurmountable obstacle in particular springing to mind.

"I just...really never saw _this_ one coming," Nora leaned back against the headboard.

"Well, we don't have to have a Talk."

"Yes, we do," Nora said, before lapsing into silence again.

"You could start by telling me what a bad idea this is," Casey offered helpfully.

"I know...but – it just seems so obvious. It's like asking you to not stick your hand in the blender. I really don't know how to handle this one, Casey." She sighed wistfully. "I have a great Talk on Smoking," she offered.

"Maybe you could adapt that one."

Nora looked at her. "Okay," she said, straightening up. "Casey – don't do it! Derek is bad for you and will only end up costing you in the long run..." she paused thoughtfully, "you know – this kind of works." Heartened by this, she continued, "Derek's toxic, and shortens your life span. Plus – Derek gives you wrinkles."

"Okay," Casey said slowly.

"I don't think it's a perfect analogy," Nora said, sagging down on the bed. "I just...don't know how to handle this," she said again. "I mean – obviously, this is some sort of cry for attention. But should I be giving you the attention you're looking for, or withholding it?"

"I'm not looking for attention," Casey argued.

Nora looked at her. "At dinner, you announced to your family, completely out of the blue – that you have a...thing...for your stepbrother. That kind of behaviour doesn't exactly whisper, 'Don't pay attention to me.'"

"You're jumping to conclusions," she said.

"You haven't been acting like yourself for a while," Nora pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

"Well – secret boyfriends, hush-hush engagements...that isn't like you, Casey."

"...No," Casey said, as if the thought were only just occurring to her. She frowned. "You're right. It isn't."

"It's probably my fault," Nora said. "I've been so busy with George and Marti and Derek...I never stopped to think that you might be feeling...left out."

"But I don't feel left out."

"It's so hard to know what to do," Nora continued, as if Casey hadn't spoken. "I mean – if I give you the attention you want, and make a big deal of this...thing – well, that means you've succeeded and gives you a reason to continue the...thing with Derek. But if I ignore it and pretend it doesn't bother me, in the hopes of snapping you out of it...then that could be taken as tacit consent – which just feels wrong." Nora looked at her, frowning.

"It's a tough call," Casey said finally.

"You have no idea," Nora said, fervently.

"So, what are you going to do?" Casey asked, nervously.

"What can I do? You're both conflicting adults."

Casey stared at her.

" – Consenting. I meant to say 'consenting' adults."

"But it freaks you out," Casey said.

"It's not...I'd be lying if I said that I thought it was a good idea," Nora said. "You've both been through a really rough time lately. I'm worried about you. Both of you. I just don't know if either of you...can be trusted not to hurt the other in this kind of situation."

Casey's eyes stung a little, but she said, as brightly as she could, "You know – I think that was the Talk."

Nora looked at Casey, and pulled her close. "I care about you – and Derek. I just...I think that you're all mixed up at the moment – you don't really know what you want right now. It's okay to be mixed up...just be careful, okay, honey?"

Casey nodded, and Nora kissed the top of her head.

"You know...I should probably tell you that George has had a talk with Derek. And – he's not exactly on the same page as you."

"Let me guess – he's not even on the same chapter?"

Nora winced. "More like – reading a completely different book." She considered. "Maybe Derek will be the sensible one here, until this all blows over..." Nora was silent for a moment, possibly contemplating the weirdness of a universe in which Derek was expected to be the sensible one.

Casey lifted her head from her mom's shoulder. "Pretending this isn't happening?"

"No! Just – maybe you're seeing...a thing...where there is none," Nora appeared to latch onto this concept with the enthusiasm of a drowning person clutching a piece of wood.

"I've got it!" Lizzie burst in, a heavy book in her hands. "Reeved Kin Rut Syndrome – there's this parasite that eats away at your brain tissue causing massive damage to cognitive functions and triggering major personality changes!"

Both Casey and Nora made disgusted faces at the information.

"Oh. Wait. The parasite is only found in the Amazonian Rainforest...False alarm."

Casey blinked. "So...me having a brain-eating parasite would be better than me being attracted to Derek?"

"Not better," Lizzie stressed. "More believable."

Nora looked at her. "You find Derek attractive...really?" She sounded as if she was desperately hoping to be told it was all a mistake. She sighed. "No – wait, don't answer that."

* * *

Of course, it didn't help that the next day was Marti's party.

"You're late!" Edwin hissed at Casey as she approached the house, cake box in hand. "You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago!" He cast a panicked look over at Lizzie, who was gesturing animatedly at a tree, in front of a slightly dazed looking George.

"Yeah, well, if SOMEONE had stuck to the schedule, we would have been," Casey said, turning around to glare at Derek, slouching behind her.

"Well, you'd better get in there – I don't know how much longer I can hold them for!" Edwin warned. He turned back to the less than enthralled crowd and said, with a practiced smile, "And now...who wants to guess which cup the coin is under?"

A sullen looking girl stabbed a finger at the middle cup. Edwin paused. "Oh. You think it's that one. That's – that's...um, maybe you'd like to try a different guess?" He smiled hopefully.

"Where have you been?" Marti suddenly appeared. "All you had to do was pick up the cake!"

"Yeah well, you know how it is," Derek said. "Brother-sister stuff-"

"The correct response is 'Sorry Marti'," she interrupted, glaring. "Now get in there and stop wasting time!"

As Derek unlocked the door, a small crowd of Marti's friends surrounded them. "Can we please come in?" one asked.

"We're starving!"

"Sorry, guys-" Casey began.

Derek turned around, and threw an arm around Casey. "What my sis means to say is that we need a few minutes to take care of some things. For our other sister's party," he clarified. Casey smiled tightly, and shrugged his arm away.

A loud groan went up from the assembled teenagers.

* * *

The living room surpassed their wildest expectations. They stopped for a moment, stunned into immobility by the sheer scale of George's work.

A cut out of a six year old Marti (grinning maniacally) posed next to a banner declaring, "Happy Birthday, Marti!" A number of photographs had been blown up, and placed on every available surface. The couch had been pushed back, and the coffee table replaced with the kitchen table, on which reposed not just a cake, but several plates of muffins – each topped with Marti's face.

"Well," Casey said, with strained politeness. "Where do we start?"

"I think you mean, 'Where do _you_ start'," Derek corrected.

Casey dropped the normal birthday cake onto the table, then turned, arms folded. "No, actually, I have a better idea. Why don't YOU start – by explaining what this whole 'sister' thing is about." She tapped her foot.

"Just expressing my brotherly feelings towards you," he said.

"Brotherly," she said flatly.

He shrugged.

"You feel 'brotherly' towards me?" she said.

"Always have, always will."

"Yeah – cause your treatment of me has always screamed" –

He raised a hand. "There may have been times when...it might not have seemed like that – but I can assure you," he said in his most sincere voice, "that my feelings towards you have always been those of a sibling."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Oh yeah. I can see that – especially in the last couple of days when you kis" –

"Shouldn't you get cracking?" he interrupted innocently, gesturing around at George's handiwork.

Casey glared at him for a moment, before picking up a tray of Marti-muffins.

"You can send those over here," Derek said, extending a hand for the tray.

Casey ignored this.

"Hey," Derek said, snapping his fingers. "I said" –

"Are you really sure you should – bro?" she asked, smiling a falsely sweet smile, and clutching the tray tighter as he moved nearer. "I mean – all that refined sugar."

"I think I can handle it. Sis."

"Well, I don't think you can. Sister's prerogative."

"Give it to me," he said, grabbing hold of the tray.

A brief struggle ensued over the muffins, that ended when Casey unexpectedly released the tray – resulting in Derek stumbling backwards, shirt covered in frosting. He glared at her.

Casey regarded him with exaggerated concern. "Oh. Sorry," she said. "But, now that the damage is done...I guess you want some cream with that?" She picked up the bowl of cream, and dipped her hand in. Without taking his eyes off her, he grabbed the birthday cake off the table. "Okay," he said slowly, a hostage negotiator. She lowered the bowl, and he relaxed. "Now that you've got that out of your system, why don't we" –

Casey flung a handful of whipped cream at him. He narrowed his eyes, scooped frosting off the top of the cake, and took aim.

Several food-filled minutes later, and both were covered in chocolate frosting. Derek smirked as he smeared a last handful over a squirming Casey's face. He let go, and she straightened up, panting. He swallowed as she took a step into his personal space. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was their breathing – fast and almost deafening in the sudden quiet.

"Feeling brotherly?" she challenged, taking another step forward.

"Nothing but," he reassured her, staring her down.

* * *

"Okay, everybody," George said, clapping his hands. "I guess we should move this indoors" –

A sigh of relief went up among the crowd.

"Marti – I've been working on a little surprise," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "I hope you like it." He smiled and nodded at a less than enthused looking Marti.

With that, he flung open the door, and the impatient crowd surged forward, only to stop in their tracks.

"...Gross," said one, staring at the spectacle of Derek and Casey kissing frantically on the kitchen table.

They sprang apart with a start, and turned to find an audience observing them.

George just stared, while behind him, Nora said, in a faint voice, "Oh. There is a thing."

"Great. First chicken, now chocolate," Edwin said, throwing up his hands. Lizzie covered her eyes, then peeked out between her fingers.

"THIS is what you wanted to show us?" one girl turned to George, sounding horrified. "You're a lawyer, right? Isn't this totally illegal?"

A wave of revolted sounds chorused around the room, while faintly, in the background, someone said, "Hey Marti – is that a picture of you...in the bath?"

"Wait!" Casey said, clambering off the table. "It's not what you think! There's no biological link!" She considered this. "Well...I mean, there is in the sense that I'm female and he's male...but I mean, even that's open to debate," she continued in a high voice, "After all, there are...gay...penguins..." she swallowed in the silence.

Derek turned around to her with a look of mingled disbelief and annoyance. "Are you done digging the hole – or would you like to draw some diagrams?"

Suddenly, Marti was elbowing her way through the crowd.

"Uh oh," Edwin muttered to Lizzie.

"Force ten on the Marti Richter Scale," she said, wincing.

"Most definitely," he agreed, and watched in horrified fascination.

She stalked her way over to Derek. "Thanks a lot, _Smerek_," she said, and thumped his shoulder.

"Ow – hey – it was her fault! She started it!" Derek justified. From behind Casey shoved him.

Marti regarded him stonily. "The only way you could be any lamer, is if I crippled you myself! And don't think that's not still a possibility," she warned darkly.

"Look, Smarti" - Derek began at the same time as George said, "Marti, honey" –

She whirled around, and George took a step backwards. "Don't even try," she gritted out. "There are no words for how humiliating this is. And also – some of those," she gestured to the photographs adorning the walls, "are photos of DEREK."

George frowned at the photos. He turned to Nora. "You know, I always forget how long his hair was," he said.

Marti made a frustrated noise, kicked out backwards, causing Derek to yelp as she connected with his ankle, and stomped her way through the crowd. Nora put a restraining hand on George's arm as he turned to follow her.

Derek turned to Casey, and said in a firm voice, "Stay!" before hobbling his way after Marti.

"Okay," Nora said, with just-keeping-things-together brightness. "Who wants cake?"


	14. Chapter 14

NOTES: Hmmm. Longer than usual because...I didn't want to break this bit up. I was half-debating whether to end the story at a certain point in this chapter. I don't know - I'm wondering whether the next bit seems completely out of left-field (on the other hand, maybe everyone's been expecting it...I suck at predicting). Anyway, I decided to hold true to what I originally intended. Apologies if it doesn't work for you.

DISCLAIMER: The LWD people are not as mean as me, and they completely deserve their total ownership of LWD. I only borrow!

* * *

Of course, catching up to Marti proved to be only one part of the problem.

"Go away!" Marti said, when she finally acknowledged the presence limping behind her.

"I'm sorry," he said, ignoring the protests of his ankle and putting on a final burst of speed, so that he ended up in front of Marti. "Okay – I'm really, really sorry."

He put a hand on Marti's shoulder, which she immediately shrugged off. "There is no way I'm talking to you right now," she said. "So just – go away!"

"I messed up – I get it," Derek began, "but" –

"It's not just that," Marti hissed, putting a hand up to shield her face as two people passed by. "You have cream in your hair and frosting on your face. You look like a total freak right now."

Derek swiped a hand over his cheek, then wiped his hand on his pants. "I'm not going anywhere," he warned.

Marti closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine," she said, veering left towards a cafe, "Just...stay behind me."

* * *

"Appearing to talk to yourself is less embarrassing than talking to me?" Derek asked, as he sat back to back with Marti, at an opposite facing table.

"You haven't looked in a mirror have you?"

Just then the waiter bustled up. He took Marti's order, then turned to face Derek. After a few moments during which he struggled to keep his composure, he finally asked, lips twitching, "Would you like some coffee to go with your cream?"

"You can start grovelling any time now," Marti said, when the waiter had gone.

"I'm sorry," Derek said.

She waited. "That's it?" she asked in disbelief.

"I'm really sorry," he said, "but...look on the bright side. You're carrying on the Venturi birthday tradition."

"The Venturi birthday tradition," she repeated flatly.

Just then, the waiter returned. Derek waited until he had set down the coffee and Marti's hot chocolate before continuing. "Yeah. You're not truly a Venturi until you've had at least one birthday party disaster."

"Seriously, this is what you think is going to get you off the hook?"

"Remember my eleventh birthday party?" he asked. "Dad's nail gun, the emergency room? I mean, your party was" –

"Yes?" she asked, warning note in her voice.

"...okay, your party was way worse," he admitted.

"Yes. It was."

"What can I do to make it up to you?"

Marti considered. "You could always try to buy me off."

"Done." Derek tapped his fingers on the table. In a quieter voice, he asked "...Are we okay?"

"That depends. What price are you going to put on my pain and suffering?"

He smiled. "I think we can come to some agreement."

A few moments passed.

"So..." Marti said, in a voice that dripped discomfort. "You and Casey...what's going on there?"

"Do you really want us to be one of those families that...talks about things?" Derek said quickly.

"No," she said, very definitely.

"See, this is why you're my favorite sister," he said.

"Really? Cause I thought Casey was your favorite sister," she said, with exaggerated surprise.

Derek closed his eyes.

* * *

When they returned (Derek walking some distance behind Marti, at her insistence), it was to a house devoid of partygoers and a worried looking George.

"They're back!" he called, and turned to Marti as Nora and Casey entered from the kitchen. "Marti," he began, only to stop as she raised her hand.

"Don't even try, George," she warned. "I don't want to hear it. I'm really disappointed in you," George shuffled his feet. "As a matter of fact," she continued, folding her arms, "I think you should go to your room and think about what you've done."

George actually turned as if to follow her instructions, but Nora caught hold of his arm, and said, "_Or_ he could stay here and give me some moral support..."

Marti shrugged and flopped down onto the couch.

"I am so sorry, Marti. I really don't know what happened!" Casey cut in. Derek opened his mouth, then obviously thought better of it.

"I'll be taking all my apologies in dollars," Marti informed her, then looked at Nora. "The floor is yours," she said.

"Okay," Nora said, and cleared her throat. "Derek, Casey...I realize that you're both adults now – and if you want to – smoke, well, I can't stop you, but...you can't just 'light up'" her fingers made quotation marks around the words 'light up', "whenever you feel like it. It's inconsiderate, disrespectful of other people, and – and...really embarrassing," she finished in a whisper.

George looked at them in surprise. "You know, it was bad enough to find the two of you doing...what you were doing, during Marti's party, but...you're smoking as well? Casey – I'm surprised at you, and Derek – what kind of example do you think you're setting for your little sister? She's very impressionable."

Derek took a deep breath. "Okay – you know what? I'm not setting any kind of example for Marti, because, even though you like to pretend otherwise, she's not six."

"Good point," Marti chimed in. "You both suck."

"Mom – you're right," Casey said. "I'm sorry – that was completely inappropriate, and I promise, it won't happen again."

Derek turned to face her. "It won't? Uh, I mean – yeah, it won't."

"At least not under those circumstances," Casey qualified, and Derek's eyes snapped back to her. "I've been thinking...and – it really isn't fair to inflict our...thing...on you guys. I think – I need some space. So, I'm going to start looking for a place of my own tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that," Nora objected. "I mean, I know things haven't been exactly normal around here lately, but this is your home, Casey. You're always welcome here – right guys?"

"Can I answer that honestly?" Marti muttered.

"Of course Casey is welcome here!" George said.

"I know. But this is something I feel I have to do. Anyway, once Christian sends on the rest of my stuff, it's going to get pretty crowded here, so..."

Derek looked at her. "I could be wrong, since I don't speak fluent crazy, but...did you just say that you're moving here – permanently?"

He looked at her like she had surprised him, like he couldn't figure her out. She thought she could get used to that.

* * *

"How did it go?" Nora asked, as Casey trudged into the kitchen.

"No luck on the apartment hunting," Casey said, putting her bag on the table. "But I dropped my CV off in a couple of places, and there might be a position for me in a week or two."

"That's great!" Nora turned back to the sink.

Suddenly George appeared and beckoned Casey. She followed him out into the living room, and he said, in a quiet voice, "Can I...talk to you, Casey?" She looked enquiringly at him, and he sighed. "It's Marti," he said. "She's had...kind of a rough day at school today. I get the feeling she could use someone to talk to, and since I'm not exactly her favorite person at the moment" –

Casey held up a hand. "Of course," she said, and made her way upstairs. She knocked on Marti's door, and entered, without waiting for a reply.

It wasn't a surprise to find Marti's room, like Casey's, bristling with stuffed animals. What was surprising was –

"Derek?"

They stared at each other for a second, before Derek lunged for the door. Unfortunately, just before he reached it, they heard the very definite click of a key being turned.

"What's going on?" Casey asked, as Derek pulled at the door, with no success.

"We've locked you guys in," Marti's voice was muffled, but still audible.

"We got that far," Derek said, thumping the door. "Why?"

"Do you not remember yesterday?" Marti asked.

"You said we were okay!"

"And you believed me? Wow – you're pretty gullible."

"Let us out!"

"Not until you two come to some kind of agreement. Yesterday was completely humiliating – and I want a guarantee that it won't happen again. You two need to talk."

"You can't just keep us locked up until we do what you want!"

"I've spoken to my lawyer. He assures me it's not actionable."

"She called me 'dad'." Even through the door there was no mistaking the happiness in George's voice.

Derek thumped the door again. "This is completely unfair!"

After a pause, Marti asked, "I'm still your favorite sibling though, right?"

Derek considered. "Yeah," he admitted.

"So – get talking. And, by the way, if you do ANYTHING in my room other than talk, there will be major consequences."

Derek slumped down with his back to the door. He sighed, and regarded the ceiling. "So – what's for dinner?" he asked.

Casey looked at him with exasperation. "I don't think that's the kind of 'talking' Marti means."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Hers!" Casey sat down on the floor. "We obviously need to sort this out."

"That's one opinion," Derek disagreed.

"Two!" came Marti's voice.

"Make that three!" Edwin.

"Four!" Lizzie joined in.

"Why are you so opposed to this?"

"I could ask why you're so in favor," Derek countered.

Casey sighed. "Look – there's obviously a...thing here," she gestured between them. "We can't just ignore that."

"Yeah, well, the 'thing' has been there for a while," Derek said. "Why now?"

"It has?" Casey asked. "Um – yeah. It has. Of course. I knew that. I'm just...surprised that YOU did. How long would you say the thing has been there – exactly? Just...for purposes of comparison..."

Derek paid no attention to this. "Why now?" he repeated. "You have the perfect guy, the perfect job, the perfect life – and you're going to...give all that up for a 'thing' you've had no problem ignoring before? Sorry, but your timing seems – off."

Casey stared at him. In spite of the flippant tone, she knew that this was important. She shuffled closer, until she was in front of him, and then she said, urgently, "But it _wasn't_ perfect. That's the whole point."

He looked at her.

"You know what mom said? She said I haven't been acting like myself lately – not just about you," she hurried on, before he had a chance to interrupt, "even before that. With Christian. Didn't you think it was weird that I kept him a secret? That I didn't tell anyone I was moving in with him?"

He frowned.

"The truth is," Casey closed her eyes, because it was hard to admit, "it wasn't perfect. I loved my job, and I really cared about Mr. Tremblay and Christian, and it _felt_ like it should be perfect – but it wasn't. Not even at the start. That's why I think I didn't tell anyone."

She opened her eyes, and looked right at Derek. "I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted – the fairytale ending, I guess. Instead, I ended up trapped in this 'happily ever after' that didn't fit." It felt like a betrayal of Mr. Tremblay and Christian, but it was the truth.

"And let me guess – you need me to rescue you from 'happily ever after'," Derek sounded deeply unimpressed.

Casey blinked. "In case you hadn't noticed," she said indignantly, "I rescued myself. If I was counting on you, I'd still be waiting." Something dawned on her. "As a matter of fact, I'm the one trying to get YOU out of the ivory tower," she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No way am I the princess in your twisted fairy tale," he warned.

"Then stop acting like one," Casey said softly. Challengingly.

He met her gaze and she could have sworn that the air actually hummed as his lips parted and they both leaned forward...only to jump apart when someone thumped at the door.

"I don't hear talking!" Marti said.

Derek let his head fall back against the door, while Casey took a deep breath. "Look – I'm here. And I'm pretty committed to seeing this...thing...through. What is it going to take to convince you?"

Derek looked at her for a long second. The tip of his tongue came out to touch his lips and he asked, very casually, "You – uh – you want to prove it to me?"

And they were back in humming air territory as Casey shifted closer and finally –

"No-one is proving ANYTHING in my room!" There was a frantic rattling sound and Marti shoved the door open, knocking Derek off balance. She glared at them. "What is wrong with you guys?"

Derek clambered to his feet. "Well, fun as it's been – I think it's time for me to go back down the beanstalk."

"You two are hopeless," Marti said, as she watched Derek disappear downstairs. She sighed. "Did you solve _anything_?"

* * *

"So – what do you think?" Casey asked.

"It's pretty small," Lizzie said, turning around in the small living room.

"Cosy," Casey corrected.

"I don't know if the three of you are going to fit," Lizzie cautioned.

"The three of us?"

"You, Derek and Derek's ego?"

"Derek has his own place," Casey said. "This is my space. I think he and I need to move slowly with our relationship." She regarded the walls thoughtfully.

Lizzie looked at her with horror. "This is you with the brakes on?"

Casey ignored her. "A little revamp – repaint the walls, redecorate...it'll be great."

"Casey..." Lizzie began. "You don't think this is...a little - pathetic? Moving back into town, getting a new place, a new job...pursuing someone who says he's not interested?"

"Pathetic? Or proactive?" Casey said, raising her eyebrows.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Anyway – it's not just about Derek," she objected. "I really missed you guys too." She waited, then prompted her sister, "This is the part where you say, 'Casey, I missed you too.'"

"Normally I would," Lizzie said. "But everyone at school is still calling Edwin Mrs. McDonald whenever they see us together."

"Sorry," Casey winced.

"...Um, Casey?" Lizzie began hesitantly, "according to Edwin...Derek's still not entirely on board with the whole you-and-him thing."

She shrugged.

"That...doesn't worry you?"

"It's kind of sweet...in a really stupid way," she said. "Even Derek thinks I'm too good for him. He's waiting for me to give up and admit I made a mistake."

"And you're not going to?"

Casey looked at her.

"...And you're not going to," Lizzie said, rephrasing her doubtful question as a statement.

Casey nodded in agreement.

"But," Lizzie said slowly, "How are you going to convince Derek – and please, don't go into any details," she finished hurriedly.

"I won't have to," she said.

"Um...what?"

Casey sighed. "He's Derek Venturi. Would you say that Derek Venturi understands the meaning of the word 'restraint'?"

Lizzie thought about this. "That depends. Is there a really good reason for me to lie?"

* * *

"I'm seeing a problem here," Derek said, pointing at the schedule Casey had pinned to the plan of her new living quarters.

"You mean, other than the fact that Casey's drawing seems bigger than the actual room is?" Edwin asked.

"Why am I on painting duty?" Derek asked.

"Because Lizzie helped me find the apartment, Edwin helped pick out the paint, Mom and Marti are going to help with the decorating, and George helped me move my stuff over. It's your turn to help."

"I'm not really in a very helpful place right now," Derek said. "I think I might interfere with your feng shui – so, I'm going to have to pass."

Casey considered this. "Okay."

"What?"

"What?" Edwin echoed.

"Okay," Casey repeated. "You're obviously still a little uncomfortable with the idea of 'us.'" She smiled understandingly. "I'm not going to pressure you into anything you're not ready for. Don't worry, we can take this as slowly as you want."

Derek's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I'm scared?"

Casey hesitated a split-second too long. "No! Not at all," she said, voice thick with insincere sympathy.

"...I think she's saying you're a girl," Edwin said.

"Because I'm not scared," he said, ignoring Edwin.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow evening, then!"

* * *

Casey's living room (or 'living-box' as Edwin insisted on calling it) took a lot longer to paint than logic would dictate. This was because –

"Derek!" Casey exclaimed in a pleased voice, as she opened the door. Then, "...and Lizzie."

Lizzie stood outside the door with her hand outstretched. "Our deal?" she reminded Derek. "Half now, half afterwards?"

Derek slapped some notes into her hand, and she entered. She sat down on the floor, and produced a book from her backpack.

"You brought a chaperone?" Casey said disbelievingly. She shook her head. "You really are a Princess," she muttered under her breath.

"Let's just say I need some protection when dealing with an ogre like you. And...what is that?" he asked, pointing at the wall she had already begun painting.

"It's called 'First Blush' – isn't it pretty? It's going to lighten the room and introduce a sense of airiness and space."

"It's going to introduce a sense of puking in anyone without oestrogen."

Casey looked at him. "Does it really matter?" she asked. "I mean, it's not like you were planning on spending any time here, or anything, right?" She raised her eyebrows innocently at him.

"You know what? You're right. Let's get this over with."

Thirty minutes and one paint-fight later, and Derek had backed Casey into the narrow entrance-way between living-box and kitchen.

Lizzie regarded the barely-blushing wall, then looked at Derek, who had dropped his paintbrush and was instead holding on to Casey's wrists – and Casey, whose left leg was twisted around Derek's right one. Clearly no-one was escaping – and from the enthusiastic lip-on-lip action, it was pretty clear that no-one wanted to.

"Not that I'm complaining," she said, conversationally, "since your donation is ensuring the continued survival of mountain gorillas – but if you're just going to do – _that_ – anyway," she flapped her hand at them, "I'm wondering why you wanted me here in the first place." She got up and stood next to the entrance-way, tapping her feet, and attempting not to look at Casey and Derek, still attached at the lips.

Casey pulled away. "Lizzie...sorry – did you want something?"

"Not really. Maybe some bleach for my eyeballs."

Edwin's stint as chaperone proved, if anything, less successful.

"Look, Derek, I know this is...kind of awkward," he said, staring fixedly at a spot on the ceiling, while next to him Derek and Casey made out, "but you made me promise that if this happened, I would stop you by any means necessary, so..."

He pulled at Derek's t-shirt, and in response, Derek's hand, the one still holding the paintbrush, swatted in Edwin's general direction, ensuring that Edwin had a deeper acquaintance with First Blush than the walls did.

Marti lasted fifteen minutes, before throwing a glass of water over Derek. "I need a ride home. You're not paying me enough to watch this," she informed him, grabbing his hand and pulling him away.

Before the door closed, Derek called out, "Word of advice – I'd look at that paint colour from a different angle, if I were you."

The door closed and Casey frowned.

A second later, and the door opened again, to reveal Marti. "He means you have First Blush on your butt," she said, and rolled her eyes.

Despite the fact that it had taken three days to paint half of one wall, Casey wasn't displeased.

* * *

The next evening, as soon as Derek opened the door to his place, he knew. The tidiness, the smell coming from the kitchen, the slightly dazed look on the face of his room-mate...the sanctuary had been breached.

"I thought we agreed – this is a bachelor pad. What ruins a bachelor pad? The presence of non-bachelors!"

"I thought we said that to make ourselves feel better because we couldn't get dates?" Jack said, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the end of his shirt.

"Maybe you did! I can't believe you let her in."

"She seems really sweet," Jack defended. He gestured around the much tidier living room. "Plus she cooks, she cleans" –

" – she _talks_," Derek interrupted.

"Percy likes her," Jack defended, gesturing towards the birdcage in the corner of the room. Derek looked at the parakeet contained within with disgust. "Come on – accept your great life. Your girlfriend is in the kitchen right now, whipping up a special dinner for the two of you."

Derek closed his eyes. "She's not my girlfriend."

"You mean random cute girls follow you home to cook and clean for you? Your life is the straight male dream, man." Jack thumped him on the shoulder.

"She's not a girl," Derek said. "She's my stepsister."

Jack blinked. "I take it back. Your life is a letter to Penthouse."

Casey chose that moment to enter. "I thought I heard voices!"

"Isn't that a medical condition?" Derek muttered.

Casey glared at him. "Dinner will be ready soon," she said.

"I'm not hungry," he said, crossing his arms.

"I made it specially," she said.

"Part of the reason why I'm not hungry," he explained.

"Derek," she managed through gritted teeth. "Give in now."

"Or what? You'll force-feed me?" Derek said, in a tone of voice that suggested he would very much like to see her try.

"The rice is at a critical stage," she said. "I don't have time for this."

"So, what, you're going to" –

She hauled him close by the shirt collar and kissed him. Jack watched in fascination.

Casey stepped back. "We..." she blinked. Then she cleared her throat and tried again. "We are having a date. Why don't you sit down?"

She turned and marched back into the kitchen. Derek stared after her. "What just happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jack answered. "But it puts me in mind of French films. The focus on the absurd, the taboo, the erotic...Can I stay for dinner?"

Derek swivelled around to look at him.

"...and I'm leaving now," Jack said, hastily grabbing his coat.

* * *

"...like us, it's a mixture of two very different things. A delicious compromise," Casey finished, as she placed two glasses on the table.

"Yeah. It's also poison," Derek said flatly.

"What? How can you say that – you haven't even touched it."

"I don't need to. It failed the first test." He gestured in the direction of the birdcage, where Percy the parakeet was worryingly still, keeled over in his foodbowl –

"You killed your room-mate's bird?!" She shoved his shoulder.

"Technically, your 'delicious compromise' killed him," Derek held up his hands.

Casey stared in horror at the unmoving parakeet, and began to hyperventilate. "You made me kill your room-mate's bird! How are we going to explain that?!"

Derek watched her with interest for a few moments, before sighing and giving in. "Relax," he said.

"How can I relax?! We killed Percy!"

"I'm going to let you in on a secret," he said. "That," he gestured to the parakeet, "is actually Percy the third."

* * *

The bell tinkled as they entered the pet shop.

"Ah – Mr. Venturi," the guy behind the counter bustled forward, "Would you like the usual?"

Casey turned. "You have a _standing order_ on birds?" she asked.

Derek threw an arm around her. "Now _we_ have a standing order on birds." He nodded at the pet-store guy. "The usual," he confirmed.

Casey wriggled out from his arm. "You can't just replace Percy with any parakeet," she objected.

Derek blinked. "It's worked so far," he pointed out.

"Can I take a closer look at your parakeets?" she asked.

The pet-store-guy made a 'go ahead' gesture.

Forty minutes later, and Derek was leaning on the counter, head in his hands. "Pick a parakeet, Casey – ANY parakeet."

Casey stared into the cages. "I'm trying...just...something is missing," she said. She turned to the pet-store-guy. "Do you have one with an intelligent twinkle in its eyes – and an almost human way of cocking its head?"

The pet-store-guy sighed wearily. "Lady – they're all just birds."

Derek raised his head. "The usual, please," he said firmly.

Casey stood next to Derek as the pet-store-guy got the bird.

"What if Jack finds out?" she asked worriedly.

"Then we offer him some delicious compromise, and run away," Derek suggested, staring fixedly at the counter. He took a deep breath, and said, casually. "Next time, we're doing pizza, okay?"

Casey slowly turned her head to look at him, a smile spreading across her face. "Next time?" she asked.

"You'd better not be smiling when I look up," he warned.

She wasn't, but it did take some prolonged throat clearing from the pet-store-guy to get their attention.

* * *

The sound of the door opening made her look up, but at the sound of Derek's voice, she returned to the job of folding clothes.

"Okay, Spacey – no crazy messages, no random visits, I'm starting to think something's...wrong," Derek called, as he walked into Casey's bedroom. He stopped. He stared at the open case on the bed. "...you're leaving?"

"For a few days," Casey said, mechanically packing. "Christian called."

Derek stiffened. "...okay, so" –

"Mr. Tremblay died yesterday," Casey informed him. Socks, underwear, pajamas – she ticked it all off mentally.

There was a silence, and she could practically feel Derek trying to think of something to say. "I – uh..." his voice trailed away.

"It was very sudden," she said. "I mean – no-one thought...heart attack," she finished, looking down at the bundle of assorted tops in her arms. Way too many, she thought vaguely, and put them in the case anyway.

"Casey..." he took a few steps nearer and put his hands on her shoulders – solid, holding her still. Since she had heard, she'd been so busy arranging everything. She didn't know what would happen if she stopped moving. She really didn't want to know either. She brushed him off. "I have to get ready, Derek," she said. "I don't want to miss my flight."

"I'll drive you," he said.

She shook her head. "George said he'd take me." She zipped her case and carried it into the living room. She grabbed her handbag off the couch and began checking it.

"Casey...can you - you seem really" –

"I'm leaving in a few minutes," she said, without looking at him. "You should probably go" –

She could feel his eyes on her, steady, and finally she had no choice but to look at him. He looked...the same. It amazed her, in a detached way, that he could still look like Derek, when this big thing had happened. Everything should have changed. She wondered if she still looked the same.

"You are...coming back, right?" he said slowly. As if he hadn't meant to ask the question.

She stared blankly at him. It was like he was on a completely different page to her. "In a few days," she said, "Derek – I really don't have time right now..."

He nodded, and opened his mouth to speak again. To her relief, he was interrupted by George's knock on the door.

"Casey – are you ready?" he asked. She nodded, and he picked up her suitcase. She turned to Derek, who showed no sign of moving. She looked at him. She should say something, she realized. She thought for a moment. "There's a spare key in the kitchen," she said finally. "The drawer next to the sink. You can lock up when you leave." She stood for another second, "I'll...see you when I get back."

She couldn't think of anything else to say, and she walked out. She turned back once, to see Derek looking strangely small and...lonely...in the doorway, looking after her, but she faced forward again, and kept walking.


	15. Chapter 15

NOTES: Oh wow - this was hard. Like seriously. Are there fics where Important People die - like Nora or George? Because - how do they do it?! I figured I'd get maybe a thousand words of angst - the work of two nights, tops - and that would be that. I had take a NAP after every section. It was EXHAUSTING. And that's just dealing with an original character. It's much less fun to write sad stuff than fun stuff! :) That's a very long-winded way of saying that this part...is probably not very fun to read.

DISCLAIMER: LWD is not mine.

* * *

It was strange, the way time kept playing tricks on her. The drive to the airport, the flight, getting to the hotel – they all felt like they had taken a long time...days, and at the same time, like they had taken no time at all. Her thoughts kept slipping and skidding away from her – her mind refused to contemplate the reason behind her journey.

When she was settled in her room, she phoned her mom – just a quick call, to let her know she was there safely. But even that took a huge amount of effort – forcing herself to speak took all her energy. Afterwards, she lay down on the bed fully clothed, and stared up at the ceiling.

Mr. Tremblay was dead. Her mind circled around the thought, refusing to get too close to it – knowing it was true, but not understanding it.

Mr. Tremblay was dead. She clenched her fists and contorted her face and threw her whole body into realizing it. Into really knowing what it meant.

Mr. Tremblay was dead. He was dead. He had had a heart attack, and he had died and he was gone and she would never see him again. For a few seconds – just a few, it hit her. Panic jolted through her like electricity, and her whole body actually jerked with the shock of it.

Mr. Tremblay was dead. He had died. She had left with everything in a mess, and he had died still hating her, and she would never ever have a chance to make it right. She started to shake – a whole body earthquake, totally beyond her control.

Then it was gone – the feeling, the understanding. But she still couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

She woke up exhausted, still curled on top of the bed. She stayed there for a while, blinking at the wall, and remembering...

The shelves full of plays in Mr. Tremblay's office, the inside page of most of them covered with his spidery writing – dates, scrawled production notes, cast lists, memories. The box of herbal tea he kept next to the kettle in the staffroom – a way to cut down his caffeine intake, he said...except that he couldn't stand more than three sips of chamomile and apple, and always ended up spilling it down the sink, and pouring himself a cup of coffee instead. The way he had of standing when something really interested him, arms folded and head tilted to the side, intent. The last time she had seen him, looking at her with eyes full of hurt and disappointment...

Abruptly, she sat up. She showered and changed, but the gritty, tired feeling wouldn't scrub away. She sat back down on the bed, took up her cell phone and called Christian. He was on his way to meet his uncle, who was flying in from Chicago, so they couldn't talk for very long. Casey didn't know what to say, anyway.

"It's eleven. Tomorrow. Church of the Sacred Heart. I guess...I'll see you there," Christian said awkwardly. As if they were discussing meeting for a movie, instead of a funeral.

"Okay," Casey said. For a second, she pretended that they _were_ planning to go to a movie. It was too strange to be talking about attending Mr. Tremblay's funeral. Like it was the most normal thing in the world, instead of the weirdest.

"I'm – I'm glad you can make it," Christian said, and Casey stared out the window. It didn't make any sense. Why should he feel grateful for that? It was nothing. She couldn't have NOT come. It would have been like deciding to not breathe. It wasn't a choice.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said eventually.

* * *

She went out for flowers. She needed to get flowers. The girl in the shop was nice, and asked her if she had any preferences _("-roses? Or lilies? Or would you prefer different flowers?")._ She almost asked for sunflowers, then thought maybe that would be inappropriate. Finally she chose a spray of irises and lilies.

Afterwards, she found a cafe and sat at a table outside, pushing food around her plate. She checked her phone. Messages from Lizzie and Marti. Nothing from Derek. But that wasn't important, and she hated herself for even noticing.

There was nothing else to do, and time had decided to slow to a crawl, so she walked. She made her way along streets she had walked a thousand times before. It was all exactly the same – so why did it feel like she was seeing everything for the first time?

She cut across the park, like it was a normal day, like she was just on her way back from a lunch break, and her feet made their way to the theatre. There she stopped, because in the front window was a sign, proclaiming 'Closed due to bereavement' in thick dark letters.

The shock of it hit her squarely in the stomach. She stared at the sign for a few moments. Then she turned and made her way back to the hotel on rubbery legs.

* * *

Maybe it was the church – or maybe it was because the whole thing felt so unreal anyway – but she found that even though she tried to concentrate on the words, she couldn't hear them. They all came out distorted, like she was trying to listen with her head under water.

Only two things stood out. The strong sweet perfume someone in the pew ahead was wearing (and that made Casey's stomach turn whenever she took a deep breath), and the eulogy. It wasn't the words that moved her – those remained fuzzy and indistinct – but the sight of Mr. Tremblay's brother as he delivered them. Something in his build and his way of moving suggested Mr. Tremblay, and Casey's throat closed up with the almost rightness and complete wrongness of it.

Outside the church, she saw Marla, who smiled a small smile at her. She touched her on the arm, and said "It's good to see you, Casey," before someone tapped her shoulder and asked her something about the service. Casey turned, and approached the crowd waiting to sympathise with the family. She waited and when it came to her turn, Christian looked at her and smiled a weird, wobbly smile, and she shook his hand. It felt wrong – she knew him, she had lived with him...a handshake wasn't enough. Seeing the lost, overwhelmed look on his face, she wanted to hug him, but she didn't know if he would want her to. Was she allowed? Maybe Christian felt as confused as she did, because he held on until it wasn't a handshake any more, until they were gripping each other's hands like they would never let go.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

"It's so...I can't – I just...don't believe it," he said. She nodded, and her chin jerked. She couldn't speak.

"There's a thing...afterwards. Dad's place. You'll be there?" he said, urgently. She nodded again, and slowly, reluctantly, their hands pulled apart.

She shook hands with Christian's mother, who looked smaller than ever, hunching slightly in her dark suit, and Mr. Tremblay's brother. Up close, he didn't look very much like Mr. Tremblay at all.

* * *

Everyone crowded into Mr. Tremblay's house – like it was a party – and she kept looking around, expecting to see him.

"I keep doing that too," Christian said, catching her. "I keep...wanting to tell him stuff. Wondering why he's not here."

"What happened?" Casey asked, wanting and not wanting to know. Christian hadn't told her any details when he'd called.

"I don't know," he said. "There was no...warning. All he said was that he was tired – he was going to have an early night. He didn't seem sick – or – or worried or anything. The next morning Marla started to worry when he was late showing up. You know dad – he's never..." he closed his eyes for a second, and swallowed, then continued in a normal voice, "She phoned me, and I came over to check it out. He was in bed. It – um...it happened while he was asleep, so at least...that's – he didn't feel..." he trailed off.

"Oh," Casey said.

"Did you think it was weird?" Christian asked suddenly.

"Weird?" she repeated.

"The eulogy. That it wasn't me. That I didn't – you know, give a speech."

She shook her head. "I didn't really" –

"Because I would have," he continued, looking at her very earnestly. "I mean, I'm not very good with...that stuff – but I would have. It's just...I didn't know what to say. People kept coming up to me, and telling me all these stories, these things dad said, or did. Some really amazing things – things I didn't know. But I couldn't – fit it in," he said, frowning. "There was so much I didn't know...how could I stand up there and talk about him, when there was so much I didn't know?"

"You knew the important things," Casey said, wanting to take away the lost look on his face.

He looked at her, and half-smiled. "No I didn't. Not all of them. Not even most of them," he said, matter-of-factly.

She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then his uncle was there, apologising for interrupting and wanting to introduce Christian to two women who had been part of a theatre group with Mr. Tremblay. Casey took a few steps backwards, not wanting to intrude. She looked around. There were small groups of people everywhere, talking in low voices. She should go and find Marla, she thought, but as she turned, she noticed that the side door was ajar. She walked through it, and into the garden.

She thought for a second that she was alone, and she took a deep breath. Then she heard Christian's mom say, "Don't tell Christian, please?"

She looked over to her left, where Enid was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in her hand.

"I didn't know you smoked," Casey said.

"Stress," she explained. "I've given up. Mostly."

Casey nodded, and they stood in silence for a few moments.

"It was good of you to come," Enid offered finally, and Casey flushed. She wondered what Christian had told his mom about their break-up. Enid was being polite, but she probably hated her just as much as Mr. Tremblay did – she blinked hard, as something twisted inside her.

"I'm kind of feeling like the odd person out," Enid said, taking a last drag on her cigarette, then stubbing it out under her shoe. Casey looked at her. "After all the fights...I really don't belong here," she continued, staring at the ground. She sighed. "But I couldn't – not. You know?"

"I know," Casey said, staring across the lawn. She wondered if Mr. Tremblay would have wanted her to come. Maybe he would have preferred it if she hadn't. She hadn't even thought of that.

"But you know, we were – we were getting somewhere," Enid said. "I mean – on Christian's last birthday...we spoke like – like normal human beings," she laughed a little. "I think...we were getting somewhere," she said quietly. "There was room to start...remembering the good things, along with the bad." She smiled, a sad, crooked smile, and Casey said, without meaning to –

"My dad was going to visit a few months ago. But he – couldn't make it, in the end..." She remembered her disappointment, trying to hide it, cancelling the reservations she had made at the restaurant she thought her dad would like. There was a sound behind her, the door quietly opening, and Christian was there. But Enid was looking at her, waiting for her to finish. "Mr. Tremblay wrote to him – to tell him..." she trailed off. She couldn't say, 'how proud he should be' because Mr. Tremblay had probably regretted that, afterwards.

"The lost art of letter writing," Enid said with a laugh. She turned to Christian. "Remember that? All the junk he used to send me...all the stuff I threw out..." her voice started to wobble at the end, and then she was crying, sobbing in Christian's arms, whimpering like a kicked animal, while Christian stroked her hair and said, in a helpless, shaky voice, "Mom – it's okay. It's going to be okay, mom..."

Quietly, Casey left them.

* * *

In the kitchen, Marla was busily putting sandwiches on plates.

"Can I help?" Casey asked.

"Thanks," Marla said, looking relieved. "You could see if anyone wants these," and she handed Casey some small plates. "Oh – and if anyone asks – tell them the mayonnaise is meant to be pink. It's a...special sauce," she said, touching the enormous bandage on her left index finger.

"You made sandwiches," Casey observed. More bizarreness to add to an already bizarre day.

"Finished at three a.m. this morning. I guess it must be love," she said lightly, packing more sandwiches onto plates.

The ground seemed to lurch beneath her feet. Casey blinked. "You – and Christian. That's..." she stopped, lost for words.

"Sudden?" Marla asked, tilting her head challengingly. "Sorry. Maybe you thought you were the one who was going to help Chris and make everything better."

"No," Casey said slowly, because she hadn't thought that at all. "I don't think I did such a good job last time, do you?"

Marla looked at her for a moment, then she seemed to deflate. "Sorry," she said, in a small voice. "I didn't mean..." she shook her head. "And for the record, that," she gestured towards the sandwiches and Casey, "seemed a lot more subtle in my head. Sorry."

"It's okay," Casey said.

"It's not," she said, raking her fingers through her hair, and wincing as the bandage got caught. "I'm not very good at this."

"Christian's lucky to have you," Casey said, and she found that she meant it. Marla was kind, and he probably really needed someone to be kind to him right now.

"Oh yeah," Marla said, making a face. "I'm a real peach. Move in on the guy when he's still hurting and confused, go behind your friend's back and then pick a fight when she shows up. I'm terrific." She shook her head.

"It wasn't much of a fight," Casey offered.

"I guess not," Marla said.

They smiled at each other tentatively. It was strange, the way everything had shifted, Casey thought. Relationships, people...her and Christian, her and Marla, Marla and Christian. The missing space where Mr. Tremblay should have been...

"You'll take care of him, won't you?" she asked suddenly.

Marla smiled ruefully, "I don't know if looking after people is my strength," she joked. But under Casey's gaze, she became serious, and said softly, "I'll try. I'm really, really going to try."

* * *

That evening, sitting at the foot of the hotel bed, she phoned home. She rang just before dinner time, because she was too tired to handle a mom-special. And sure enough, there was just enough time to answer a few questions about the funeral, and Christian, and how she was, and when she would be home ("Soon," she said vaguely), before her mom said, apologetically, "I'm sorry, honey, I've got to go – the vegetables are drying out" –

"It's okay," Casey said. "I'll talk to you soo" –

"Oh! But Derek is here," her mom interrupted, "if you want to say hi. Derek!"

"No!" she said immediately, scrambling to her feet. "I mean, I don't need to talk to him now. Tell him – I'll see him when I get back."

"Okay," her mom said slowly. Then, in a fainter voice, obviously talking to Derek, "No – actually, she can't talk right now."

"I'll see you soon, mom. Love you, bye," Casey said very quickly, before hanging up.

* * *

The next day, she woke up late from dreams where she and Derek kept missing a play Mr. Tremblay was performing in. She knew it was important to get there – she knew she had to see him, because he was dead and this was the last chance she would ever get, but Derek kept delaying her. She didn't make it, and she woke up with panic still rolling around in her stomach.

After showering and dressing, she booked a flight home for the following day. Christian and his mom were driving to some farm and activity centre they'd visited as a family when Christian was a child. He'd made Casey promise to say goodbye before she left. She had time.

Then she searched through her suitcase until she found her old set of keys. She held them in her hand for a moment, considering, before putting them in her pocket.

The walk to the theatre didn't take long at all. The sign, with its ugly thick black letters, was still in the front window, and she stared at it for a minute, before slowly walking around to the side entrance, and unlocking the door.

Was it breaking and entering? she wondered, as she absently keyed in the code, and gently closed the door. This was real – more real than the funeral had been, and she could feel her heart thumping as she made her way quietly along the corridors.

She passed the vending machine, and she could almost see herself and Derek arguing about –

_" – it's just another way of being selfish. You want someone until you don't, and then you leave them, or they leave you..."_

She stared at Mr. Tremblay's office door, remembering. He had interrupted them, and he had gone home with Christian. She knew that, but the clearest picture in her mind was of the carefully casual look on Derek's face when he said love was selfish. She had been so focused on Derek – how much had she missed?

She shook her head to clear it. Derek didn't belong here, and she continued until she was backstage. She stood in the wings for a moment, hearing –

_"I must thank her for re-igniting my own passion for theatre, for making old things new again, and making an old man...very happy."_

Then she inched forward until she was just barely on the stage, the right curtain brushing her arm.

She closed her eyes. She could almost see Mr. Tremblay, arms folded, concentrating intensely. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice sounded small and thin, but she kept going. "I'm really sorry." The lump in her throat was choking her, and she had to stop for a minute. "I didn't think...it would be like this," she tried again. "I thought I'd have a chance to make – things okay. With us. You probably think I'm just saying that...but I really did plan on trying to fix this." She stopped and swallowed again, because it hurt to talk. "I just – I never thought...I miss you," she finished, her voice shaking and going high-pitched at the end.

She opened her eyes, and Mr. Tremblay wasn't there, watching her. She pressed her lips together, and her hand caught at the curtain – slightly faded, a few worn patches. Mr. Tremblay had talked about getting the curtains replaced next year. But he wouldn't. Because he wasn't there anymore. He wasn't at his house, and he wasn't even at the theatre.

He was gone. Casey sank to the floor as the pain hit her, the red curtain swishing through her fingers. It felt like someone was picking her apart, one thread at a time. She wrapped her arms around her knees, put her head down, and tried to breathe through the hurt in her chest. It felt like she had been smashed against a wall – inhaling was like pressing on a bruise.

She cried – though that was different too. There was no noise – no sobbing or sniffing. It was like she had forgotten how. The tears came and slid hot down her cheeks, but her mouth stayed open in a soundless wail.

* * *

She really didn't want to say goodbye. Not just because she was tired and goodbyes were hard, but because Christian wasn't at his house. Which meant he was at the theatre. And she really didn't want to go back there after yesterday.

She did though. She had promised.

The front door was locked, but the side door opened when she pushed it, and she walked up the same corridors, past the vending machine and to the door of Mr. Tremblay's office, which was ajar today. She stood in front of it for a moment, pretending, then she made herself push it open.

Inside, Christian was taking the plays from the shelves behind the desk and putting them into boxes. He dropped a handful of books on the desk when he saw Casey.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi." She tried to smile. "Did you have a good day yesterday?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. We walked around the grounds, had lunch in the cafe. Talked. It's changed a bit, since I was seven – but it was nice." He looked down at the box of books in front of him and said, "And today, I'm here again. It just...doesn't get less weird."

"No," she agreed. She reached out and touched one of the plays on the desk. "What are you going to do with these?"

"I don't know. Send some to his friends, relatives." He stopped. "Would you like to take somethi" –

"No," she said quickly. She wasn't a relative, and she was certain Mr. Tremblay didn't class her as a friend. Even if it did give her heart a funny, bittersweet ache to see his scrawled writing inside one of the books that was open on the desk. She didn't have the right to it now.

"Are you sure? We've got four '_As You Like It'_s. So far," he said.

She shook her head. "It's okay." There was a silence, and Christian placed some more books in the box.

"What's going to happen to the theatre?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. There's a meeting next week, I think. I mean – it's...complicated. It's not that I want it to close, but...it's really not my thing, you know?" He sighed. "But then, there's Marla, and all the other people who work here. But what do I know? Maybe the board of directors will sort everything out. I hope so."

There was a silence.

"You're – you're heading home?" Christian asked.

"Yeah," Casey said. "Soon."

"How – uh – how did that work out for you? I mean, with..." he stopped, unwilling to say Derek's name.

She didn't pretend not to understand, though it was hard to talk about with Christian. "Different than I expected," she said finally.

"Yeah. For me as well," he said, concentrating fiercely on packing the plays.

"You and Marla, that's – that's good," Casey tried. "I'm glad that" –

"She's not you," he said, looking up, straight into her eyes.

The floor jerked beneath her feet. She stared back, frozen by the tone of Christian's voice and the knowledge that she had made a much bigger mess than she had ever thought.

"I should go," she said. Before she made everything even worse. She didn't know how, but knowing her, it was possible that she would find a way.

Christian came from behind the desk and held out his hand. She couldn't not take it. He gripped her palm and said, "You know – I probably wouldn't be here...at least, not like this – except for you."

She wondered if this was some kind of accusation, but he was almost smiling, and he didn't look angry.

"I didn't know everything about my dad. Not even close to everything. But I wouldn't have known him at all if it wasn't for you," he said. "So thank you."

He loosened his grasp on her hand, but she caught his hand again, in both of hers, and said, urgently, "Christian..." She took a breath. It was stupid, and she knew before she even asked what the answer would be. But she still had to ask.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking at her with a weird mix of hope and apprehension.

"Your dad..." she said.

"...my dad," he repeated, and gently pulled his hand away.

"Did he ever...say anything about me? Afterwards?"

He looked at the floor, then back at her. Now he just looked tired. "You – weren't exactly neutral territory," he said.

Now she knew for certain. He had died hating her. It hurt, which was ridiculous, because she had expected it. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to smile.

"Well. I should get going," she said.

"Casey..."

"I don't want to be late," she said and turned. At the door, she stopped, and said, "Take care of yourself." Then she closed the door gently behind her.

She was almost at the side entrance when she heard Marla.

"Hey – Casey!"

She made herself stop and turn around.

"You're leaving now?" Marla asked.

"Yeah," Casey said.

"Okay, well – I just wanted to say goodbye," she said. "And – um...good luck with everything."

Casey considered. "You too."

Marla smiled at her, almost shyly. She had no makeup on, and she looked really young and – hopeful standing there, smiling at Casey. With a sinking feeling, Casey realized that it was probably too late to stop her from getting hurt.

* * *

She didn't call home for a ride from the airport. Instead, she got a taxi. She just...really didn't want to deal with questions, and talking, and hugs and noise. She wanted some time to think things through. Alone.

So she hauled her suitcase up to her apartment, and tried to unlock the door, only to discover that it was already unlocked.

Frowning, she pushed open the door, and blinked. It was...very pink. She let her suitcase drop, and she blinked again as Derek came out of the kitchen. He stopped when he saw her.

"You painted the walls," she said finally, gesturing to the now First Blush coloured walls.

"Well – you said you were coming back, so..." he said. He looked slightly awkward, standing there.

"Thank you," Casey said, feeling just as self-conscious. She fidgeted with her handbag, and noticed that there were books on her coffee table. How long had Derek been there, anyway?

"So – how did it go?" he asked.

Suddenly, she was annoyed. By his being there, and asking her questions and making her talk – hadn't avoiding that been the point of coming back to her place? She didn't want to speak to anyone right now, and the thought of having to perform the Derek-Casey two step made her feel so tired she wanted to lie down on the floor.

"It was a funeral, Derek, not a fun-eral. How do you think it went?"

He looked vaguely embarrassed, but asked, "And, uh, how are you?"

"Kind of tired, actually," she said, and waited for him to get the message. He didn't move.

"Seriously," she said, "I just want to go to sleep."

"Who's stopping you?" he asked.

"You," she pointed out. "Not leaving."

"Hey – feel free to do whatever you've got to do. I can show myself out."

"I'd feel more comfortable if you left," she said finally, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, well, see – that's the thing. Dad and Nora would kill me if they thought I left you alone during your time of need." He made a 'what can you do' face.

"I won't tell if you won't," Casey said tightly.

"I believe that _you_ think that," Derek said, "but you're bound to crack under pressure."

"What pressure?" she asked, then shook her head and said it as bluntly as she could. "Derek – I really don't want you to comfort me."

"Well that makes two of us," he said. He still didn't move. "It doesn't change the fact that...I'm here."

It struck her suddenly that he was...trying to behave like a decent human being. Really, after the last few days, nothing should have surprised her.

"Derek," she said. "I'm giving you an out." She stood aside and gestured at the door. "A get out of jail completely free card. Take it."

He didn't say anything, and she sighed and dredged up the one thing that she knew beyond doubt would get him moving. "In ten seconds, I am going to have a complete emotional meltdown. Complete with crying," she warned him.

"Crying?" he asked warily.

She nodded.

He considered this. "I guess I'd better get going, then," he said.

"Ten," she said, in response, looking at her watch. "Nine."

Slowly he made his way over to the coffee table.

"Eight," she said, and her voice wobbled as if she really was fighting tears. "Seven."

He picked up a book.

"Six," she said, blinking very fast. "Five. Four."

He approached her.

"Three," she said. Her voice was almost a whisper, and it hurt to swallow. "Two..."

"One," he finished – and she hadn't meant to, it was supposed to be an empty threat, but she was crying after all, and Derek's arms were too tight around her, and exactly what she needed. She cried into his shoulder – proper crying with sobbing and whimpering – and she felt something loosen inside her as she finally let go.


	16. Chapter 16

NOTES: This took a while, sorry! One of those awkward bridging parts that grew. So (I don't know if this is at all interesting - feel free to skip), my main worry with killing off Mr. Tremblay was that it would seem...like a really obvious plot tool to create tension between Derek and Casey, and to string out the story (I can't wait until this sucker's over - then I get to read stuff and write the monkey au!). I hope it doesn't read like that in this chapter crosses fingers.

Also, so many thanks to everyone who has reviewed - the last chapter was heavy going, so thanks very much for sticking with it!

DISCLAIMER: LWD is no closer to being mine than it was the first time I wrote a disclaimer. My fiendish plots never work.

* * *

For a long time, the only thing she was aware of was the horrible ache in her chest and stomach and throat, and the reassuring hardness of Derek's shoulder as she cried into it. Eventually, though, as the frenzied sobbing became intermittent sniffing, Casey became aware that somehow they had ended up on the floor – and judging from the stiffness in her legs, this had probably happened a while ago. She gave a last sniff, and breathed in the sudden quietness, feeling curiously calm.

A few seconds later and Derek shifted awkwardly, and pulled back. She had to stop herself from reaching out for him. She had reached a fragile kind of peace, and she was afraid that even the slightest change, the slightest movement, could smash it. But she forced herself to stay very still as he padded away, leaving her alone in her living-box.

She leaned back against the wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees. But before she even had time to think, Derek was back. He set a glass of water on the floor, before swinging himself down next to her.

"Word of advice," he said, "If you're thinking of going for round two, you might want to re-hydrate."

She shook her head. "I think I'm okay." Slowly she picked up the glass and took a cautious sip. Her throat felt raw and it hurt to swallow.

"Yeah, it's probably a good idea to stop when the colour of your eyes matches the walls," Derek agreed.

They sat, close to each other but not touching, staring at the wall opposite them.

"I had a plan," Casey said finally, still facing forward.

Derek rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling in front of him. "Should I pretend to be surprised?"

"I was going to go back," she said. "Not for a while – but I was going to go back." She half-laughed, even though she didn't find it funny. "I was going to bring you with me. Make you dress up, stop you from saying anything stupid." She considered. "Stop you from saying anything," she amended, then sighed. "And show him that...I didn't do it to hurt anyone, I just..."

She could feel Derek looking at her, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead. "Too late now," she said finally. Slowly, painfully, she got to her feet. "I'm tired," she said, and it was true. "You can lock up when you leave."

She pretended she didn't know he was watching her as she walked away.

* * *

She woke with a start a few hours later. She stayed completely still for a few minutes, blinking up at the ceiling, before getting out of bed and making her way to the kitchen – where the light was still on, and Derek was sleeping at the kitchen table, face resting on his open book. She looked at him for a long moment, before tiptoeing to the sink and quietly filling a glass of water for herself. She turned out the light when she left.

When she crawled into bed again, she tried to think. It was hard, because her head felt completely empty. But she knew she _should_ be thinking, so she tried her best. Things had happened. Big things that affected her and Derek - and by this point she should be trying to see how everything fitted together.

But however much she tried, she couldn't dredge up any coherent or useful thoughts, and she stared up sightlessly, thinking about nothing, until she fell asleep again.

* * *

The next morning, she woke up late, and Derek was gone. She spent most of the day unpacking and trying to mentally prepare for dinner that evening, which was sure to be full of hugs and questions and noise – none of which were bad things...just hard to cope with at the moment.

It was exactly as tiring as she had thought.

"Casey! How are you? Why didn't you call last night? I could have picked you up – I was so worried!" Nora said, holding on tightly to Casey, while behind her a pan bubbled ominously.

"I'm sorry," Casey said. "But I was okay – really."

Nora pulled back and said, "But you could have called – I would have been there for you."

She tried to smile. "I know. But it was okay."

The worried look remained on her mom's face, and Casey really didn't want a Talk so she cast around and, as Derek entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge, she said, "Anyway – Derek was there, so everything was fine." Subject closed, she hoped.

Derek ignored this as Nora glanced between them. "Oh. Well – that's good," she said, sounding a bit lost.

Though the pan was an inanimate object, it seemed to be on Casey's side, because it chose that moment to boil over, providing a perfect distraction.

* * *

Even though Casey had been dreading the hugs and the questions, she found that the really hard part came afterwards, when the questions stopped and everyone began to talk about other things.

"-so if I provide him with the commodity he wants, he provides me with the commodity I want," Edwin finished.

"Except that I'm not a commodity!" Lizzie argued.

"One date," Edwin protested, "That's all he's asking!"

"It can't be 'off'," Nora said. "I've bought a really expensive dress!"

"I know," George said, "but that...didn't really come up when they called off the wedding."

"What if Edwin cuts you in?" Marti asked.

Both Lizzie and Edwin looked interested.

"I think you should talk to him," Nora said.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," George said quickly.

"He looks up to you."

"That's because he's a really short guy," George said.

"Twenty-eighty," Edwin offered.

"He gets freaked out if anyone stands to his left!" Lizzie objected.

"Levophobia is a really serious condition!" Edwin protested, then sighed. "Okay, sixty-forty."

"Fifty-fifty," Lizzie demanded.

"I'm thinking more thirty-thirty-forty," Marti said, gesturing to Edwin, Lizzie, then herself, "since I did broker the agreement."

"I think it's his glands," George mused.

Through it all, Casey moved her fork in slow loops through the mass of food on her plate. Was this what was supposed to happen? she wondered. Was she just supposed to pretend everything was normal? Was everything supposed to _be_ normal? She felt separated, cut off from her family, like she was in a thick plastic bubble, and she could only hear –

" – Casey?"

"Hmm?" she said, looking up to find that all the conversations had stopped, and everyone was looking at her.

"You've hardly touched your food," Nora said.

"You gave me a big helping," Casey said. It was true – even if she had been hungry, she still couldn't have managed the amount of food piled on her plate.

Nora looked at her, frowning. "Casey – I think you should stay here tonight," she said, and held up a hand as Casey opened her mouth to object – "I don't think you should be alone right now."

She hunted desperately for some excuse that would soften the determined look in her mom's eyes. The truth was, she really didn't know why the thought of spending the night in her old room filled her with dread – she only knew that she needed to be somewhere quiet, on her own. She also knew that convincing her mom of this was probably an impossible task. Still, she braced herself to try when –

"I'll be there."

Everyone's focus swivelled to Derek, who shot an indecipherable look at Casey and said, "I've got to study for that test anyway, so..." he shrugged.

"Yes," Casey agreed, grasping this excuse with relief. "So it's okay. I won't be alone."

"Are you sure?" Nora asked, looking between the two of them, before conceding. "Well, if that's what you want..." she looked helplessly at George.

In the after-dinner scuffle, Casey seized the first opportunity to repay Derek for his uncharacteristically noble gesture. As she put on her coat, she casually said, "You know, I kind of feel like walking. So, why don't you take the car and I'll meet you at my place?"

Behind Derek, she could see her mom opening her mouth to object, but Derek got there first.

"I'll go with you," he said, then turned. "Dad, could you take my car?"

Casey blinked. Not just because Derek hadn't taken the 'out' she was offering, but because –

"Uh – sure. Sure thing," George said, sounding slightly confused.

Derek closed his eyes. "On second thought," he said, stepping over to the couch, where Edwin stared up at him in breathless anticipation. "Catch!"

Lizzie stared down at the keys in her hand, then up at Derek in disbelief.

"You can handle it, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, grinning widely.

"That is completely unfair!" Edwin protested. "There's no way Lizzie is a better driver than me!"

Everyone stared at him. Marti cocked her head to the side. "He's clearly delusional – but do you think he's dangerous?"

* * *

At least Derek didn't seem inclined to talk as they walked – and Casey grudgingly admitted to herself that it had been a good idea for him to walk with her, given her mom's worry.

They halted at her building and she said, awkwardly, "Um – thank you."

Derek looked at her blankly, and she continued, frowning, "For being considerate of my feelings."

"Whoa – easy with the 'f' word, there," he said.

She sighed. "Well, whatever motivated you...thank you. I'm...grateful." It was strange to be throwing words like 'grateful', 'thanks' and 'Derek' together in a sincere, non-ironic way – but she WAS grateful.

She tried to smile and waited for him to leave. "I guess you should go – study," she said.

"Yeah. I should," he said. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"So – go," she gestured. "I'm here. You've done your step-brotherly duty. You're free to leave."

"My books are in your living room," Derek pointed out.

While this was true, once Casey had unlocked her door, he immediately flopped down onto the couch, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He picked up the book on the cushion next to him, and began flicking through it.

Casey stared. "Shouldn't you get going?" she asked, a sharp note creeping into her voice.

"I could," he conceded, "But do you really want to be responsible for the death of another parakeet?"

She frowned.

"This one talks," Derek said with evident distaste. "Percy want a cracker – Derek want a mallet."

"So...when you said you wanted to study here, you _weren't_ being considerate of my feelings," she said slowly.

"Could you at least give a little warning when you're going to drop the 'f' word?" he said absently, turning another page, "Percy's still more annoying than you – but it's a close thing."

Casey marshalled arguments in her head, then looked at him, squinting down at the book in his lap as if he had never seen it before (it being Derek, that was entirely possible), and she stopped. Even though he was sprawled out on the couch, not even looking at her, there was a tension in his pose. And she knew that winning wouldn't come without a fight. She knew she _would_ win (after all, it was HER space, she had every right to order Derek out), but the pre-victory argument was just too tiring to even think about. So she let it go.

In the end, it wasn't so bad. Apart from one or two trips into the kitchen for food (and Casey didn't remember buying popcorn – again, bringing up the question just how long Derek had been treating her place as his), he stayed on the couch, studying his book.

In spite of that, Casey found it impossible to ignore him. It should have been easy. He wasn't talking, or bothering her, or even (apart from food stops) in the same room as her, but his presence distracted her so much she couldn't think. Although that was completely understandable, she told herself, given his weird behavior. Really, it wasn't any wonder that after an hour, she found herself standing in the entrance-way between kitchen and living-box, staring at the anti-Derek. Who eventually said, without looking up –

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He paused. "And if you do, could you make me a copy – I find that looking at myself helps me to concentrate."

"I'm going to bed," she said. "You can let yourself out."

* * *

In the dark, she could almost hear Christian's voice – _'It just...doesn't get less weird'_. The truth of the words was almost a physical sensation, like bumping against a brick wall.

For a moment, she really wanted to call Christian, even though she knew she couldn't – because he would understand this. Her family didn't realize...Mr. Tremblay was only a name to them (or a vague memory, in Derek's case) – it was her they were concerned about. Though she didn't really know why – she wasn't the one who had died. She wanted to talk to someone who cared about him, who knew that he drank his coffee black and that he clicked his fingers when he was deep in thought.

She lay there quietly for a while, missing him. But it didn't feel like last night. This time, the pain was blurry, soft around the edges, and she didn't cry. Instead, it was almost like the feeling was separate from her – something she brushed against every so often. Mostly, she felt...calm – like the world had stopped its crazy see-sawing, and she was finally on solid ground.

She knew she wasn't alone – she hadn't heard Derek leave...but it was still a shock when she heard his footsteps on the floor. She tensed as the footsteps stopped – right outside her door. No, she thought, don't push it, Derek – this one time, don't push it. Her heart didn't stop thumping until she heard the footsteps retreat. A few seconds later, she heard the television.

The thing was...it wasn't Derek's fault. It was hers. She had been to the funeral, she had paid her respects – obviously, now she was supposed to get on with her life. Move forward – live in the present, start planning for the future. Except...she just – couldn't picture it. Any of it. The whole evening, she had felt like she was on time-delay, five minutes behind. She needed everything to stay completely still until she had figured everything out.

That was a lie. Or at least...not the whole truth. The thing was...it felt like something was missing in her. Because she remembered how much she had wanted Derek...but it was like reading something in a book – she knew it was true, but she didn't feel it. She couldn't even remember what it felt like. There wasn't enough room left in her to want Derek, to handle a relationship. All she could think of was...Christian and Marla, her engagement ring, Mr. Tremblay's disappointed face, the confused disbelief of her family...

It just seemed...impossible. Another one of her wrong choices bound to end badly. Looking at it logically, with her new objectivity – she couldn't believe she had ever thought it would work. It just seemed so...obvious.

She didn't want to move, and she really didn't want to talk about it – but it wasn't fair to Derek to keep him holding on, expecting...she didn't know what he was expecting, or if he was expecting anything, but _if _he was...then it wasn't fair to let him go on expecting – whatever he was expecting. So she got out of bed and padded into the living room.

Derek was back on the couch, book cast aside, seemingly engrossed as a woman with a fixed smile grated a variety of items using a small, complicated looking grater. Casey sat down next to him.

"Can I talk?" she asked, staring down at her lap.

"I think the question is, can I stop you?"

She ignored this. "You know how...sometimes, you want to do something – and everyone says, 'Hey – that's a bad idea'?" She tucked her hair behind her ears, "But you really want to do this thing, so even though you hear what everyone is saying...you don't listen. And then, afterwards, it hits you – 'that was a really bad idea.'" She waited. "What do you think?"

"All your ideas are bad ideas."

She closed her eyes, still looking for a way to be...gentle. It was funny how trying not to hurt someone in the long run, still ended up hurting them. "It's just...there are these two people. And they just...don't work together. Don't you think they should – give up?"

"Okay," he agreed.

"Because...what?"

"Okay."

"I don't think you see where I'm coming from," Casey said slowly.

"People – not working – giving up...let's call the whole thing off...sounds good to me," Derek shrugged.

"Really?"

"I'm not seeing the problem."

"You're sure you understand what I'm talking about?" she pressed. It was just...too easy.

"Casey. I get it," he said. "As a matter of fact, would you like me to explain it to you?"

"No, no, I get it," she said.

He spread out his hands in a clear 'what next?' gesture. She blinked. "Um. Well. Now that that's been - sorted out...I'm going to go back to bed."

She got up off the couch. "I'm glad we had this talk," she said. "I think...it's been very helpful." For some reason, her voice went up at the end of the sentence, almost making it a question.

She retreated to her bedroom, still confused. The conversation hadn't gone as expected. Derek had sounded almost bored...and she wondered for a moment whether he had understood the meaning behind her words. Maybe it had gone over his head?

But she shook her head firmly. It hadn't been that hard to understand. And Derek had said that he got it. Maybe...this was just as much of a relief to him, as it was to her? Maybe, in the whole mess that was Casey's emotional landscape – this one thing...could be easy. She didn't deserve it, not at all – but she couldn't help but be grateful for it.

Derek was going to withdraw gracefully, with feelings that hadn't been too hurt. It felt like a small victory.

It came as a shock then, the next morning, when she walked into her kitchen to find Derek still there, crunching his way through a bowl of cereal.


	17. Chapter 17

NOTES: ...and I thought I would never post again. Sorry about the delay - computer trouble and no internet access (makes Liz cranky). I thought I'd be finished by now - believe it or not things are meandering to a conclusion! Anyway - sorry again about the delay. Not madly exciting this time around, but there are shenanigans in the next chapter...feel free to wait until then :)

DISCLAIMER: ...I've checked. LWD is still not mine.

* * *

No matter how often she blinked, the Derek sitting at the kitchen table refused to go away.

This was – unexpected. It didn't make sense.

He finally looked up and said something that was probably meant to acknowledge her presence. It was hard to tell through the cereal.

"I...wasn't expecting to see you this morning," she said carefully. He shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, apparently unconcerned.

"After last night," she clarified.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Casey felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Derek hadn't been demonstrating a newly-found sensitive and mature side, he had been demonstrating cluelessness. It was her fault, she acknowledged – subtle was a language Derek didn't speak – she could have broken up with him in French and it would have made as much sense to him.

She steeled herself. "Last night?" she reminded him. "Remember our talk?"

"I remember _you_ talking."

"That was...a break-up talk," she said gently. "I was trying to break up with you."

"Ohhhh," he said, with dawning comprehension, "so _that's_ what that," he tilted his head to the side and smiled a sickly sympathetic smile, "was." He rolled his eyes.

"Yes," she said. "We broke up." She took a deep breath. Even if she deserved it, she wasn't ready for this – the accusations, the blame...but she was going to face it anyway. "Well? Do you have anything you want to say to me?"

"Yeah," Derek said, getting off the chair. She braced herself. "You need more milk." He shoved the almost-empty carton in her direction. Absently, she took it.

"That's it?" she asked. "That's...all you have to say to me?"

Derek considered. "I guess you could buy some juice as well." He dumped his bowl in the sink, then turned and examined his watch. "I should get going, before I cross the line from 'fashionably late' to 'out of a job.'"

Seconds later the door slammed shut.

She stood in the middle of her now empty kitchen, clutching the milk carton to her chest, and trying to make sense of what had just happened. Finally, she walked over and wrote 'milk' in big letters on the magnetized notebook hanging on the fridge.

Okay, so maybe the Derek situation was proving hard to manage – but she was totally on top of the shopping list.

After a moment's consideration, she added 'juice'.

* * *

It really shouldn't have surprised her that that evening followed almost the exact same pattern as the one before – well almost, when she discounted her mother's attempt at a heart-to-heart (unsuccessful due to Casey's lack of enthusiasm for a heart-to-heart, and the fact that Nora had to leap up every few minutes to check on an overly elaborate dinner), as well as the weird aberration that was Marti in an eye-searingly red cardigan, insistently bestowing supportive hugs on Casey. The end result was the same, though – Derek, his book, and her bowl of popcorn were firmly installed in her kitchen by eight o' clock.

She watched him inhale popcorn and flick the pages of his book for a while before saying –

"We need to talk."

"Can't talk. Using brain," he mumbled.

"This is important," she said, and put her hand down on the book.

Finally, he looked up at her. "What?"

"Derek," she said, trying to be tactful, "...we don't work as a – couple."

He blinked. "You're breaking up with me AGAIN? Are you _trying_ to ruin my life?"

She was torn between panic at the inevitable confrontation and, strangely, relief that this conversation was finally following the script.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she began.

"Great – then shut up and let me study, so that I can pass this test and forget all this useless information."

She paused. "I was talking about the break-up."

"Again? Do you suffer from short term memory loss? We've done this already."

She tried to stay focused. "This," she made a gesture that encompassed him, her and the popcorn bowl, "...this isn't normal post-breakup behavior."

"How would you know?" he asked.

"What?"

"You're completely abnormal," he pointed out. He paused. "And, not that it matters, but it wasn't exactly a 'relationship'."

She closed her eyes. "Derek – I need you to take this seriously." She didn't know why, but she needed to sort this out. The memory of last night – of his footsteps pausing outside her bedroom door, made her uneasy, made her long to have this done, finished, incontrovertibly over.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Okay," he said. "So how does it work?"

"Um, well..." she began, thrown off balance by his sudden capitulation.

"I know - you get the McDonalds, and I get the Venturis? Or maybe you've got a different arrangement – we get the fam on alternate weekdays? Oh, and are we never going to see each other again, or are holidays a special case?"

Her mouth opened and closed. "I really hadn't thought about that," she said finally, weakly. That was true – and terrifying now that she _did_ think about it. How could she NOT have thought about this stuff? How could she have just blithely assumed that she and Derek were going to make it? It seemed painfully naive looking back on her behaviour. She felt lightheaded thinking about how enormous this mistake was and how impossible it was to fix.

She realised that Derek was looking at her. "Or..." he said slowly, "We can do this the easy way."

She frowned at him. An easy way? That...didn't sound right, or even vaguely plausible. "The easy way?" she asked, testing the words on her tongue.

"The path of least resistance," he said, and pulled his book from under her hand. He held her gaze until she nodded, then found his page again.

* * *

She couldn't remember the dream (nightmare), but her heart was pounding, thumping faster and faster until finally she jerked awake. She stared up at her ceiling and took deep breaths, trying to calm the beating of her heart.

But it was so dark and so quiet, and she felt suddenly small, and terrified. She was only a tiny spark of awareness and the dark was pressing in – she felt illogically sure that it could smother her into nothing. She thought about Mr. Tremblay – who had been so vital and alive and _there_, only a few weeks ago...and now he was _nothing_. Nowhere. The air pushed down on her, heavy and suffocating, and with a great effort, she flung the bedclothes back, and sat up. Her hands were shaking.

Just moving helped to break the weird feeling, made it easier to breathe. She switched on the light next to the bed, and that helped too. She stayed for a few minutes, breathing deeply, and wiped her palms on her pajamas. Then she pushed her feet into her slippers, and padded into the living-box.

She turned on the light, startling Derek, who shot up from the couch, startling Casey, and making her heart race again.

"You have a blanket," she said stupidly. She stared at it. It was quite possibly the most hideous thing she had ever seen. It was purple and green plaid, with a vomit yellow stripe added for good measure. It didn't match anything in her apartment, including itself.

"I was sleeping," he pointed out.

"Oh," she said. "I was...just getting a glass of water."

While she was in the kitchen, she heard the television click on, and she almost melted in relief. It was cowardly, she knew, but going back to her room, lying down in the quiet darkness...it made her palms sweat just thinking about it.

She drank her water, and made her way back to the living box. She curled up in the armchair near the couch and watched two women argue over a basket of fabric.

"Do you want to...talk...about it?" Derek asked suddenly, changing the channel. Now a man in a white coat was offering something to a monkey in a cage.

She shook her head. "No." She didn't want to talk. She didn't even want to think. It didn't change anything. It didn't help. She just wanted to watch the man and the monkey, doing...whatever they were doing, and not feel for a while. The path of least resistance, she thought. She could feel Derek watching her, but didn't react.

"You can break up with me again, if it helps," he offered casually.

Slowly, she turned her head. This time, Derek was the one staring resolutely at the screen. She examined his profile and suddenly, she was struck by a fierce desire to freeze time, or at least slow it down, because it was all passing too fast, and for some reason, she really wanted to remember this moment.

* * *

It wasn't that she was sad, really. Mostly all she felt was tired. Doing the smallest things took a huge amount of effort. In the end, it was easier to let Derek stay than to force him to go.

Two days later, she got a call from Janine French, from the Open Door Theatre, one of the places she had left her C.V. a few weeks ago (only a few weeks? she thought dazedly), and suddenly she had a job.

"Francine. Early retirement," Janine explained. "She said it was to pursue her other interests – gardening, grandchildren, bingo," her hands moved impatiently, "but personally, I think it was the new uniform."

The 'new uniform' was eye-catching – a bright blue waistcoat with black buttons, and on the back – actual brown fabric doors that swung out like stunted wings. For a moment, Casey stared at it, soaking it in to tell Mr. Tremblay – he would laugh and shake his head. Then, a second later, she realized that she couldn't tell him.

"Not a problem for you, is it?" Janine asked.

"No," she said.

* * *

In a vague way, she knew that her family were worried about her. There were clues. Like...

She sat on the couch while George fidgeted.

"Are you sure mom doesn't want any help?" Casey asked. "It sounds" – she was cut off by a loud clank.

"She's got it under control," George reassured her. "I've been reading an interesting book," he said finally.

"You have?" Casey asked.

"Well, Nora's been reading an interesting book," he qualified. "But she's been telling me about it."

Casey tried to smile encouragingly.

"It's fascinating really – this woman...Elisabeth Rubix Cube? She talks about all the stages of grief and" –

"You mean, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross?" she interrupted.

"Oh. Yeah," George paused for a moment before launching a fresh attack. "So, anyway, the first stage of grief is – denial."

He looked at her, waiting for her reaction. Stumped, she nodded her head.

"Do you...want to talk about that?" he asked.

"Okay?" she tried.

Fifteen minutes later and George was in full flight, "...one minute, she's in her tutu, pretending to be a princess-ballerina, and the next...she's got all her permanent teeth. I just keep thinking, 'How did that happen?'" He looked at Casey, confusion on his face.

Casey patted his knee. "I know," she said.

"I just" – George began, only to be interrupted by Nora, who exited the kitchen and breathlessly announced, "Dinner is ready."

She turned towards the stairs and called, "Dinner!"

Almost immediately, three pairs of feet thumped downstairs. Casey blinked at Marti's ensemble – a vibrant yellow dress mismatched with green tights. Absently, she gravitated towards Casey and hugged her. Bemused, Casey hugged back.

"Great! I'm starving," Edwin announced. "What are we having?"

"Shank of lamb on a bed of mash with a rosemary jus," Nora said. She turned to Casey, "I hope you like it."

"Oh," Edwin sounded less than enthused.

"I'm sure it'll be great," Lizzie said.

"What's a 'jus'?" Marti asked suspiciously.

* * *

Shank of lamb on a bed of mash with rosemary jus became breast of chicken in a lemon tarragon sauce became pan-fried sole on a bed of spinach with seasonal mixed vegetables – while George and Casey's talks about denial...remained talks about denial. She thought George was making progress though.

Meanwhile Edwin kept offering her oddly coloured drinks that made her lips go numb. He squinted a lot and muttered things like, "Less peppermint next time," or "More powdered walnuts!" She didn't think she wanted to know.

Lizzie's approach was direct, at least. "When I'm feeling down," she said, "it helps me when I...help. So I volunteer at the animal shelter. Want to come?"

That seemed – logical. Useful. She found herself thinking that maybe Lizzie had the answer. She just needed to channel all her weird feelings into helping others.

That lasted until Lizzie actually dragged her to the animal shelter. The sheer number of animals without homes just made her feel more tired, and the scratches on her face ("But Lilypad is usually so friendly!") took days to heal. After that, Lizzie stuck to making Casey send letters and emails about endangered mountain gorillas.

Derek at least didn't try to help. He ate her food (and complained about Nora's new dinner menus), and mocked her uniform, and used her shampoo, and left the hideous blanket draped over the couch no matter how many times Casey reminded him not to. It was – nice to have someone who wasn't trying to feed, talk, hug, help or experiment her back to normality.

It was okay, as long as Casey told herself she was taking the path of least resistance.

Of course, that couldn't continue forever.


	18. Chapter 18

NOTES: Yes - sorry for the less frequent updating. End of school year craziness. But on the bright side - barring unforseen complications, this wraps up in one more chapter, so... :) Also - thank you so much to everyone for feedbacking, and sorry for my horribly late responses to same (end of school year craziness or not, I suck - my apologies).

DISCLAIMER: LWD is completely, utterly, and absolutely not mine.

* * *

The problem with taking the path of least resistance was that other people kept putting up roadblocks. Things that she just couldn't handwave away. Things she just had to deal with.

Casey knew that it had gone too far when she saw the flip chart. Printed at the top were the words 'Operation Normal Casey'. Beneath that was a table, with the names of her family on one side, and tasks on the other. Beside Nora's name there was a selection of menus. Next to George's it said, '_Stage 2: Anger_?', while Edwin's boldly announced '_Edwin's Cure-All Elixir'_ and listed a number of ingredients (Casey's stomach flipped uneasily as she realized that the weird drinks he had been offering contained blenderized salmon). Next to her name, Lizzie had written '_Caring for pet - fulfilling. Hamster? Gerbil_?' Marti's simply said, '_Be more adorable'_. At the very bottom of the chart Derek's name had been scrawled (Marti's handwriting). Under the task-section it said '_To be announced at a later date'_ (also Marti's handwriting).

She had plenty of time to notice these things since Derek was the focus of everyone's attention.

"Derek – you're early," Nora sounded slightly panicked.

"Derek! You were supposed to delay Casey until after the meeting!" Lizzie said.

"Great timing, _Smerek_," Marti said, putting her hands on her hips. Casey blinked as she realized that each of Marti's fingernails was painted a different colour. "You couldn't have made this early entrance to – I don't know...my BIRTHDAY PARTY?"

"Okay everyone," George held up his hands. "Let's not" –

"Sabotage!" Edwin interrupted. "He did this deliberately," he shook his head in disbelief, then paused. "This is because they made me treasurer, isn't it?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah," he said sarcastically, "I'm all bent out of shape because I don't get to be treasurer and count the Freaky Casey Fan Club Funds."

"You still haven't accounted for the financial anomalies in the aftermath of Operation Normal Birthday Party," Edwin said, crossing his arms.

"Derek, Edwin, this isn't" – Nora began.

"...Can I say something?" Casey asked, raising her hand. She fought the urge to take a step back as everyone turned towards her, and she had to remind herself that her family had created an organization dedicated to – well, her. They had a schedule, and meetings and MENUS. Something HAD to be said. So she squared her shoulders and began.

"This" – she turned to the flip chart and stopped, momentarily silenced by the sheer...weirdness of it. She hastily collected herself. "This is...sweet. In a strange way. An incredibly strange way." She took a deep breath and said, very clearly and slowly, "But...you have to stop. I'm fine. I'm going to be fine. Okay?"

She looked around, making sure to meet everyone's eyes. "Okay?" she said again.

There was a murmur she took as agreement, followed by an awkward silence, finally broken when –

"I was so close," Edwin sighed, sinking down onto the couch – and almost immediately hopping up again. "I need to cancel that order of fish oil!" He vanished in search of the phone.

This seemed to unfreeze everyone. Marti glanced down at herself, regarding the white shirt bedecked with giraffes and sequinned purple skirt that made up today's ensemble, before saying, "If that's settled, I think I'll go change into something more age-appropriate."

As she thumped her way upstairs, George called after her, "You don't have to!"

Casey put her hand on his arm and shook her head slightly.

"But it's your choice!" he amended. He turned to Casey, who smiled encouragingly at him. George attempted to smile back, and sank down on the couch. Nora patted his shoulder.

Lizzie pulled something out of her back pocket. "Okay – I know what you said...and I respect it, but – this is Goober," she held out a photograph of a furry brown-and-white creature. "My friend Melissa just got him, but it turns out that her mom is allergic to hamster fur, so he's looking for a new home."

"Whoa," Derek held up both hands. "No way am I sharing living space with a rodent."

A silence fell. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. "What?" Casey asked.

"It's not like you to waste a set-up like that," Lizzie said.

"Well, Derek is right. In a way. I don't have time for a pet right now, Liz. Sorry."

"Excellent," Derek said, throwing his arm around her. "Casa de Casey remains a rodent-free zone."

The silence descended again, as she shrugged off his arm. "Two in a row," Lizzie observed, before veering off in Edwin's direction. "I'd better call Melissa – EDWIN! Are you still on the phone?"

Nora cleared her throat, and took a step towards Casey. "Casey - I'm sorry," she said. "I know maybe we got a little out of hand" –

"You have a flip chart," Casey pointed out gently.

" –but it's just because we're worried about you."

"I'm fine," she said again.

"I know – but lately you've been so" –

Casey realized that a Talk was on the horizon. Desperately, she searched for something that would derail it. Unexpectedly, George helped.

"Do I smell smoke?" he asked.

"Duck!" Nora yelped. Obediently, they all obliged. Nothing happened.

"I meant – the duck in the oven," Nora explained, as she turned and raced towards the kitchen.

* * *

Okay, maybe that one was more of a speedbump than a genuine roadblock – even when Casey figured in the inevitable mother-daughter Talk that followed the kitchen clean-up.

It wasn't that she was against all mother-daughter Talks – just this one. She didn't see how talking about Mr. Tremblay was going to solve anything. Talking about him wasn't going to bring him back. It wouldn't even make her feel better, because nothing could change the fact that she had messed everything up and made him hate her. Examining what had happened wasn't going to magically undo it.

"I know I didn't know him," Nora said, putting her hand over Casey's, "but I know he was important to you. And I know that you probably feel like you left things unsaid – unfinished..." she trailed off but Casey just stared down at their joined hands, saying nothing.

Nora sighed. "It's not – no-one expects you to suddenly be okay again. Honey, it's normal to feel sad or angry, or-or however you're feeling. But – you do know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

Finally Casey looked up and caught her mother's eye. "I feel..." she began, and stopped.

Gray. She felt gray, like she had been put through the rinse cycle with a pair of black socks. The whole world just seemed...faded. Shabby. Unimportant.

"...fine," she said eventually. "I feel fine."

* * *

Ironically, the next roadblock came courtesy of the expounder of the path of least resistance himself.

The fact that she could hear the shower meant that there was only one person available to answer the door at the ungodly hour of 'early' on a Saturday morning. So she hauled herself out of bed and padded to the door.

"Hey Casey," Marti said, then yawned.

"Marti? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Derek's test is today," Marti answered, brushing past and making her way into the kitchen.

"And you wanted to wish him luck?" Casey asked, following her. "That's really sweet."

"I _am_ his luck," Marti contradicted. "Stage one." She slid onto a seat. She regarded Derek's cereal bowl and half-full glass of orange juice for a moment before pushing them aside, and propping her head in her hands.

Casey looked at her for a moment. "It's good to see Derek finally taking his studies seriously," she said. "He's really worked for this."

"I know," Marti said. "I told him that Edwin's running a betting pool and so far, a C is the highest anyone's tipped him for. He's using me to place bets for him. If he gets an A, he figures he'll get a major payout."

Casey blinked. "Derek thinks everyone is betting on him to fail? That's sort of...horrible."

"Or a motivational tool," Marti shrugged. "Whatever works."

Before Casey could comment, Derek breezed into the kitchen. "How's my favorite good luck charm this morning?"

"Sleepy," Marti said, scraping her chair back and getting to her feet. As she and Derek performed a complicated handshake that ended with a high-five, she warned, "I'm looking at Saturday from the wrong side of noon. You had better get an A on this one."

"If I don't, I need a new good luck charm."

Marti's eyes narrowed and she aimed a punch at his shoulder. "For extra luck," she explained sweetly as he glared at her.

He took a breath and clapped his hands. "Well, I'm ready to – answer some questions!" He leaned over the table and grabbed his bag from the chair next to Marti.

"Good luck!" Casey said, and pasted what she hoped was an encouraging smile on her face. It went mostly unobserved, as Derek rooted in his bag.

Marti propped her chin on her folded arms and asked, "You're ready for stage two of the good-luck ritual, right?"

"Stage two?" Casey asked.

"You want me to do well on this test, yeah?" Derek asked, zipping his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Of course – but what's stage" –

He took two steps forward, grasped her shoulders firmly, and kissed her.

It was over so fast he was already pulling away just as her hands were coming up to push him off. Before she could think of something to say, the door was slamming shut, and it was just her and Marti in the apartment.

She swallowed. It wasn't a big deal. It was just some stupid good luck ritual that meant nothing. Derek had been casual about it. Casual was good – casual meant it wasn't important. She should be casual about it. She looked at Marti, still resting her head on her folded arms. Her eyes were closed.

"So, Marti," Casey began, casually, "What do you want to" –

Without opening her eyes, Marti held up a finger. "Sssh," she said. "Stage three in five, four, three"–

Her countdown was interrupted by the banging of the door. Casey turned in time to see Derek veering hurriedly towards the bathroom, hands clamped over his mouth.

"Okay," Marti sat up. "You were saying?"

* * *

She'd tackled Derek about it afterwards. Because, yes, he had been casual about it, and yes it was part of some stupid superstitious luck thing, and obviously it meant nothing, but – it shouldn't have happened. Kissing did not occur after break-ups. It made her uneasy.

So as they made their way to the McDonald-Venturi residence, she subtly worked it in to the conversation. Except that Derek didn't respond to any of her comments about 'inappropriate behavior' or 'personal space', so eventually she flat-out stated -

"You kissed me."

"We're still on this?" he asked in disbelief. "Fine – I kissed you. Believe me, it wasn't a picnic for me either. I threw up right afterwards – what else do you want?"

"My key," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Your test is over – you don't need to study at my place anymore." She held out her hand. "So you can give me back my spare key – right?"

He looked at her for a long minute. "Right," he said, face unreadable. The uneasy feeling that had haunted her since that morning melted away as he dropped her spare key into her palm.

* * *

It turned out that while she thought the uneasy feeling had been permanently taken care of – actually it had just popped out to the store for a while, and would be back soon.

'Soon' arrived after dinner when Derek drove off, leaving her to walk back to her apartment. The walk was nice – she finally had her own space, Derek had his...it was reassuring.

She grasped just how stupid she had been when she realized that her door was already open. She wasn't even surprised. Slowly she turned the handle, already knowing what she would find. And yes – there he was, sitting on her couch, eyes intent on the television as he flicked through the channels.

"Just how many copies of my spare key did you make?" she asked, dreading the answer.

He did look at her then, consideringly. "Why ruin the surprise?" he said.

* * *

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, she told herself. After all, Derek hadn't been a demanding room-mate so far (when he had had a big test to distract him, a voice in her head pointed out), and it wasn't like he was clamouring to get back together with her (she firmly pushed all thoughts of the good-luck kiss out of her mind), so really – if he wanted to spend a few extra nights on her couch (why? the voice in her head demanded)...how bad could it be?

This optimistic frame of mind lasted until the following morning, when she came in to the kitchen to find Derek ladling out scrambled eggs. Using the spatula, he gestured at the table, which already held a plate.

"Yours," he said, through a mouthful of eggs.

Slowly she sat down. See, this was – 'odd' was the first word that sprang to mind, but 'nice' was...okay, 'nice' was still lagging behind 'confusing', but she was sure it would cross the finish line soon. She picked up her fork and took a bite.

"Taste okay?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Great. Thanks." She was struck by a sudden thought. "Why?" she asked warily.

"No reason," he said. "I mean, yeah – your floor polish is industrial strength, but it's also 'zesty-fresh' so...it all works out."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she got up, and scraped the floor-eggs into the garbage. Then she took out a bowl and poured cereal into it.

"That's it?"

"What?" she opened the fridge in search of milk.

"You're not going to yell at me?"

She concentrated on getting the cereal-milk balance just right. "No."

"Okay, question. Are you ever going to be any fun again?"

She didn't want to do this. She was tired, and she had just eaten floor-eggs, and now _Derek_, of all people, seemed to be instigating a Talk? He stared her down, waiting for a response.

"The yelling and shouting was fun?" she asked in disbelief.

"More fun than this."

"It's just...not important enough," she managed. "I mean – I think we're old enough to deal with this stuff in a reasonable, mature manner now."

"Oh," he said, sounding suddenly enlightened, "is that what this is? Funny – cause it kind of looks like being emotionally frozen."

The shock of it, Derek 'We Need to Not Talk' Venturi ambushing her in her own kitchen and using phrases like 'emotionally frozen' in a non-sarcastic way...it made her vision go blurry for a second.

"My emotions are fine," she said, watching her cereal go soggy.

"Really? Cause I've seen popsicles show more genuine feeling."

"Okay, that's your opinion," she said tightly.

"Yeah – newsflash – your family started a 'Poke Casey and See if She Reacts' Club...and guess what? When you found out about it...you didn't."

"I reacted," she objected.

"You went 'hmm' and asked them to please stop. On a scale of one to full blown Casey-fit, that rates a 'boring'."

She frowned as she realized, "You did do that on purpose!"

"Pizza night became scallop night. Action had to be taken," he said, and made a face.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "Look," she said slowly, calmly, "I'm sorry that I'm not living up to your standards for 'normal'" –

"Yeah – you're not listening. I don't want you to act 'normal'. I want you to act like Casey. I'm used to that crazy."

"I'm fine," she said. She didn't know what else to say.

"Okay – _that_," he gestured at her, "freaks everyone out."

"I don't know what you want," she said finally. Heroically, she refrained from saying that she didn't care either.

"I've just told you," he said very slowly. "Cry. Get mad. Talk about it." He paused. "Stop putting everything on ice."

She just shook her head. It wasn't...she didn't...she was just so – tired. She wanted to say – how will crying solve anything? Or getting mad? Talking wouldn't change anything.

Instead she just shook her head.

He looked at her.

"Okay. The hard way it is." Though he said it in a very calm voice, she could practically hear ominous music.

* * *

She found out what 'the hard way' involved the next morning when she was woken by –

" – as we penetrate deeper into its lair," Derek's voice said.

She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into a camera. She started and almost hit her head on the headboard.

"Derek – what are you doing?"

"Making a movie – _Life in the Freezer: Curse of the Zombie Queen_. Can you turn to the left? I need a profile shot."

"This isn't funny," she told him.

"I know – it's a horror movie."

He filmed her eating breakfast, and even though she tried to ignore him, it was hard with voice-overs like - "While the zombie has no real need for human food, in order to avoid detection, it will mimic human behavior."

Finally, she turned to him, and said, "I know what you're doing, you know."

"You do?" he asked, still filming.

"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't see it before." She tried to sound understanding. "It's obvious that you have some repressed anger about our break-up, and this," she gestured towards the camera, "is how you're dealing with it."

She really should have expected something like this, she supposed. And of all the ways Derek could have chosen to deal with his feelings of rejection and anger – well, this wasn't the worst, was it? She silenced the little voice in her head that told her that Derek had not yet begun to unleash his repressed feelings. He would get bored soon – and really, didn't she deserve a little discomfort, after breaking up with him? He hadn't yelled, there hadn't been any family-fallout...she had known at the time that it was too easy. She could grin and bear this, she told herself. Well, bear it anyway. It was the least that she could do.

"I'm the one with repressed feelings?" Derek said slowly. He turned the camera towards himself and said, "Okay - lesson number one...zombies don't get irony."

* * *

Of course, Derek made it hard to follow the 'ignore it and it will go away' philosophy. The camera appeared at the worst possible moments–

" – so instead of worrying about you – I knitted. I just...want to wrap you up in my love," Nora said, handing her the sweater. "What do you think?"

Casey unfolded the bright blue sweater, and studied the enormous pink heart on the chest. The sleeves dangled off the couch and trailed onto the ground.

"It's great," she said.

"The unsuspecting zombie accepts the straight-jacket," Derek interjected, "Little thinking that" –

"Derek!" Nora said, through gritted teeth, "Is that really appropriate?"

"It's fine, mom," Casey said. "It doesn't matter."

Nora stared at her for a long moment, and weirdly, Casey thought she looked disappointed.

* * *

The hardest was when Derek followed her to work on his days off.

"Don't you have enough footage?" she asked tightly.

"Edwin gave the short version four severed thumbs up, so I'm going for a feature film." He began filming Janine as she approached.

"Tell me," he asked confidentially, "When did you first suspect that you'd hired a zombie?"

She stared at him, stone-faced. "I guess I knew when she didn't beat you to death with your camera." She folded her arms. "If you want to stay, you'll need to buy a ticket for the show. Give the camera to Carlos – he will return it afterwards. And don't sit near the front – it freaks the actors out when they hear snoring."

"Yeah, I was" –

"Now," she said, grabbing hold of his arm and hauling him to the ticket desk. "Ticket," she said crisply. Carlos dispensed the required ticket. "Camera," she pulled it out of Derek's hands and gave it to Carlos. "Now – go find your seat."

"But it doesn't start until" –

"We're expecting a last minute rush. You don't want to get caught in that. Find. Your. Seat."

Derek turned and handed his ticket to Casey.

"You've been here before," she said. "You know where to go."

Derek shook his head in disappointment. "I thought this place prided itself on the personal touch."

"Casey – show him to his seat before I personally _karate-chop_ someone to death," Janine said, throwing up her hands.

Afterwards, though, when Derek had been seated and normal service could be resumed, Janine didn't seem annoyed.

"I know what you're doing," she said, leaning up against the ticket desk. "And – hope you don't mind – it's risky."

"I'm sorry about Derek," Casey apologized. "He's just" –

"I've known a few guys like him," Janine said, ignoring her. "Cute. Annoying. Mr. All That and Then Some. And yeah, the ignore-them strategy is great for catching their attention, but it doesn't work as a long-term thing. If you want him to stick around, you should encourage him a little. Otherwise, he's going to give up."

"Yeah – but when?" Casey muttered to herself.

She realized that Janine was assessing her, head cocked to the side. "Huh," she said, as if she was just discovering something. She kept her eyes fixed on Casey as she said, "Carlos - I think our Casey's a bit of a heartbreaker."

* * *

The final straw came during her conversation with Lizzie.

" – but then there's this course. Mom and George think maybe that's the one I should go for. It's not as specialised, so the employment prospects are better. Plus it's closer to home. So –what do you think, Casey?"

"It sounds good," she said, looking at the brochures spread out on the kitchen table.

"But...does it matter if the other course is specialised? I mean, if I know what I want to do...if it's what I really want, then isn't bringing it all down to distance from home kind of short-sighted?"

"That's a good point," Casey said.

"Well – what do you think I should do?" Lizzie looked at her.

"I don't know. What do you think you should do?" she asked.

"I'm asking you."

"But it's your choice," Casey pointed out.

"And I'm asking for your opinion!" Lizzie sounded frustrated.

"I don't think I can give you an objective opinion. Maybe you should talk to your guidance counsellor – it's still Paul, right? He's great at being objective."

"But I don't want an objective opinion! I want _your_ opinion!"

Casey blinked. Lizzie seemed really upset. "But my opinion shouldn't matter," she said gently. "It's your decision...that's why I think you need objective advice."

Lizzie's shoulders slumped. "Forget it," she said quietly. "Just – forget it."

Casey stared at her. This was important, she knew. Something was wrong and she had to find the right words to fix it –

"See the important thing to remember is –the zombie looks human – but it can't replicate human emotions" –

She wasn't sure, but she thought there might have been an actual snapping sound as she rose to her feet, stalked over to Derek, and snatched the camera out of his hands. She could actually feel the anger boiling in her stomach. She didn't think she could speak, she was so angry.

"Hey – careful! You'll damage it!"

And then she found that she could speak after all. "I can't believe that even you could be this insensitive! Anyone else would just back off and try to be supportive – but you – you just poke, and poke and poke" – she illustrated her point by prodding at his shoulder, "until you're so far over the line, you can't even see it anymore!" She took a deep breath. "Well, here's a warning. This," she held up the camera, "stops RIGHT NOW."

"Or?" he said, crossing his arms.

"Or the zombie queen rips off your hands," she said, relishing the clean heat of fury that rushed through her body. It was almost dizzying. She turned on her heel, and took two deliberate steps towards the garbage can.

"Oh no! No no – don't you d– that was expensive!" he protested, as she lifted the camera higher. She raised her eyebrows challenging, and let go. The clank of the camera as it fell into the garbage made him freeze for a second before –

"Nora!" he turned to her mom, who was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, arms folded, observing. Casey hadn't noticed her, and she wondered for a second just how long her mom had been standing there, before dismissing it as unimportant.

"Mom!" she interrupted, "He wouldn't stop filming" –

"She threw my camera in the trash!"

There was a beat before Nora held up her hands, as if she was considering what to do. "I'm not getting involved," she said. "I think the two of you are old enough to sort out your problems by yourselves."

Casey blinked – the words were familiar, but the tone...her mom sounded – almost happy? And as Nora brushed past them on her way to the sink, Casey could have sworn she patted Derek's shoulder – so fast Casey almost missed it.

"Um," Lizzie said tentatively, interrupting Casey's disturbing train of thought.

Casey whirled around to face her. "Lizzie," she said urgently, the words just flooding out, "Forget what I said – if you have a dream, or a passion...then you have to follow it! I mean – I'd miss you if you went too far away, but I'll support you no matter what you decide!"

"Thanks," Lizzie smiled, and Casey knew that somehow, she had managed to say the right thing. Then Lizzie bit her lip, and almost as if she couldn't help it, she said, "But..."

"What?"

"Can we take the camera out of the garbage now? It's just...it's not a recyclable."


	19. Chapter 19

NOTES: ...and a bajillion years later (or something). Sorry about this - I really thought this would be done a fortnight ago. But there was this dance course and I was almost too tired to breathe, let alone write and then my 'this is the last chapter' estimate of 3-4 thousand words ended up as over 12 thousand words. And I didn't want to post it until it was all completed because I keep saying 'almost there' - and then saying '...but not really.'

So, here we are (almost)

DISCLAIMER: LWD is still not mine.

* * *

The glass fell slowly, but there was no way to stop it. It didn't make a sound when it hit the floor, but the fragments spun everywhere, small and sharp, and she knew she would never find them all. She bent down anyway, and there were shards of glass under her knees, but they didn't cut her.

The door opened, and suddenly Christian was standing next to her, tall and frowning. "I thought you were prepared," he said.

She stared at the floor, sparkling with glass. It was almost pretty, the scatter and shine of the pieces, and she felt the sadness of it seep right through her body.

"I dropped it," she said.

* * *

She knew the Derek situation wasn't ideal – he wasn't a house-guest, he was an infestation. But he had stopped filming her, and if she continued to chip away at his collection of keys to her apartment, she was sure that he would eventually run out.

She didn't realize how much trouble she was in until she opened the door one evening.

"Hi, Casey," the man on the other side said, in a cheerful voice. "How are you doing?"

"...I'm fine," she said. He was short and stocky, with greying hair at his temples. She had never seen him before in her life. "Um...I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Not officially, but it feels like it! I have to say – that picture does not do you justice. You had that squint fixed – wise move," he nodded at her approvingly.

Casey began to feel nervous. "Picture?" she asked, trying not to let it show in her voice. She gripped the door handle firmly, ready to shut it quickly if the need arose.

"You know – the photograph Venturi has in his wallet. The one with the ah..." his hands fluttered around his face and chest, and he chuckled. "It's quite a snap. I have to say, when I first saw it, I thought – 'Love really is blind' – but now that I've met you, well..." he trailed off, and beamed at her.

"You know Derek?" she said, clutching at the one thing her ears had managed to make out in the auditory blur of weird.

"Know him – I own him!" She stared at him as he laughed. "Just our little joke," he explained. "I'm his boss – Smith, Charlie Smith."

"Oh," she said. There didn't seem to be much else to say.

"Anyway," Charlie continued, "Venturi left this" – he held up a CD case, and made a face. "Music Madness Monday...not really my style, but..." he said, holding out his hands as if to say 'what can you do?'

Casey wondered if he was speaking in code.

"I'll get him – why don't you come in?" she said, finally releasing her death grip on the door. He stepped in almost before she had finished the sentence, looking around her living box, sharp-eyed.

Casey made her way to the kitchen, where Derek hunched over the kitchen table, earphones on, flicking through a magazine. It was like walking in to find her woodworm having a family get together. It gave her some satisfaction to pull the earphones out of his ears.

He glared at her.

"Your boss is here," she said.

He closed his eyes and groaned. "Please tell me you didn't let him in."

She trailed behind him as he left the kitchen, and lurked inconspicuously in the corner.

"Venturi!" Charlie greeted him, "I popped by to drop off your white noise."

"Thanks," Derek said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "Well, now I have my noise," he continued, pulling the CD out of Charlie's hands and brandishing it as evidence, "I guess you'll be on your" –

"Nice place you've got here," Charlie remarked, with another glance around.

Casey frowned as an unwelcome thought snaked into her brain. Derek's boss had come to Derek's place to return Derek's CD. Except...he hadn't. He'd come to _Casey's_ place to return Derek's CD. She drummed her fingers on the little table next to her...and looked down as her fingers encountered – envelopes. Unopened envelopes. Unopened envelopes addressed to Derek.

The snaky thought rose up and hissed warningly.

Derek was getting his _mail_ delivered here?

Derek's boss thought he _lived_ here?

...And wait a minute – Derek had a picture of her in his _wallet_?

Her head whirled. Wildly she looked around the room. Her eyes were immediately assaulted by the hideous blanket – but that was merely the unattractive icing on the unappetising cake. Derek's textbooks were spread across the coffee table, a spare pair of his shoes had been carelessly placed in the best possible position to trip unsuspecting victims, and...was that a trophy on top of her television?

She was living with Derek. Or, to be strictly accurate, Derek was living with her.

It wasn't that she had been unaware of the fact that he was using the linen closet as a wardrobe, or that his shiny hair was a result of his sneaking her expensive shampoo and conditioner – but she had thought they were _existing_ together, not LIVING together. Looking at these things with an objective eye, however, she was forced to admit the truth.

Apparently Derek's reaction to a break-up was to practically book a commitment ceremony.

This could not be allowed to continue.

" – but we still don't know if we have permission for the building – you could say it's causing a lot of exTENSION between us!" Charlie laughed, then poked Derek in the shoulder. "Did you get that?"

"Oh I got it," Derek replied. "Now how do I get rid of it?" he muttered.

Unexpectedly, the world turned purple. And green. And vomit-yellow.

He pulled the blanket off his head to find Casey glaring at him.

"Get out!"

"Casey – is everything okay?" Charlie asked, gaze flicking between her and Derek.

"No! No, everything is not okay! THIS stops – right now!"

With that, she stomped away. They watched her go.

"...You know – when you talked about your girl, Venturi, I've got to tell you – I thought you were exaggerating. You're sure she's taking that medication?"

"The doctors did say it was an experimental treatment."

"Oh."

"The screaming is the worst part," Derek offered. "And the uncontrollable jealousy. We're hoping that girl-scout won't sue."

"Oh," Charlie said awkwardly. "Well – I've got to tell you – you're a heck of a guy. I don't know many men who'd take on someone like...well..."

"I think of it as a service to the community," Derek said, oozing sincerity.

Just then, Casey returned, arms full of clothes and a rucksack over her shoulder. She dropped everything onto the floor. "Start packing," she ordered, and folded her arms. She caught Charlie's eye and shook her head in disgust. "I can't believe he's here," she hissed.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Look – Casey...this is – that is...I mean – Venturi and I...we're _co-workers_, nothing else. Can you understand that?" he spoke slowly, carefully. He nodded and smiled reassuringly.

The slow swivel of her head was warning enough.

"I should be going," he said, hurriedly backing away.

"See you tomorrow," Derek called out as the door shut, before turning to Casey. "I know I don't say this very often," he paused, "mostly because it would be a lie too big even for me...but nice job, Case."

She stared at him.

"I thought he would NEVER leave," he glanced at the heap of clothing on the floor. "Well – I'm going out for a while. I'll leave you to clear up."

* * *

The sound of the door opening made them hurry out of the kitchen, Casey trailing at the back.

Without a word, without even looking at them, Derek hung up his coat. Then he turned and faced them. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Finally, Nora cracked. "Well? How did you do?"

Derek looked down at the ground for a long moment, and Casey's heart plummeted. After all that studying, there was just no way that Derek could say –

"Eighty six percent." He looked up, grinning, and was immediately engulfed in a cloud of congratulatory McDonald-Venturis. Casey hung back until Derek fought his way out from the rest of the family, and stood in front of her.

"Congratulations!" she said, and she meant it. It was nice to see Derek doing well.

He didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows as if he was waiting for something more. Casey realized that everyone else had gone silent as well – obviously Derek wasn't the only one.

She grabbed his hand in both of hers and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. "Well done!" she said, "I'm really happy for you!"

Derek's disbelieving look told her that this fell short of expectations.

"Well, this is awkward," Edwin observed.

"Yeah. Even more so now that you've commented on it," Lizzie pointed out, poking him.

The thump of feet on the stairs came as a relief to everyone.

"Well?" Marti demanded, coming to a halt three steps from the bottom.

"A," Derek informed her.

"Way to go, Smerek!" she shrieked, and launched herself at him, almost toppling them both to the floor.

Once Marti had been detached, Derek turned to Edwin and clicked his fingers, as if just remembering. "Oh, yeah – before I forget...I'll be taking my payout in cash."

"Payout?" Edwin asked.

"I know about the betting pool," Derek said. "As a matter of fact, I've been using Marti to manipulate the odds for the past couple of weeks." He smirked.

"Yeah – about that..." Edwin began.

"...We sort of –lied," George finished.

Derek looked around suspiciously. "What?"

"We thought it would be an incentive," Marti explained.

"You mean – there was no betting pool?" he sounded crestfallen.

"Come on – you didn't seriously believe your own family was betting on you to fail," Nora said. "We believe in you!"

"No payout?"

"We knew you could do it," Lizzie said.

Derek's shoulders slumped. "This family sucks."

* * *

The way everyone had fallen silent when Derek had turned to her – as if they were expecting her to...well – some things needed to be clarified. This belief was only strengthened by Nora's question.

"So, Casey – do you two have any big plans to celebrate Derek's results?" She smiled encouragingly.

Casey cleared her throat. "I have an announcement," she said. Nobody put down their fork, but they all looked at her, and she decided this was sufficient.

"Derek and I have broken up," she said.

"Pass the ketchup," Derek said, gesturing at her.

She ignored him. "We feel our relationship has simply reached its natural conclusion. We remain on good terms and" –

"Casey – ketchup," Derek snapped his fingers at her.

She glared. "Derek! I'm speaking!"

"If you guys have broken up, then why are you living together?" Lizzie asked, frowning.

"That's a good question, Lizzie, and I'm glad you asked," Casey said.

"I'm not," Edwin muttered. He stared mournfully down at his plate.

"As a matter of fact, I've been wondering the same thing myself. Don't you think it's a little strange, Derek, that I see more of you now than I did when we were in a relationship?"

"Not at all, Casey," he said, in the same fake-friendly voice. "After all, we do remain on 'good terms'." His fingers made air-quotes around the words. He shrugged. "But maybe it's just because I'm not afraid you're going to maul me anymore."

There was the sound of Edwin's fork dropping.

"If you weren't already sleeping on the couch, you'd be sleeping on the couch for that remark," Casey said, narrowing her eyes. "The mauling was completely mutual."

"It did seem mutual," Lizzie said helpfully.

Edwin pushed his plate away. "Please, can we not discuss this where there is food?"

"Speaking of food, could someone PLEASE pass the ketchup?" Derek sounded extremely exasperated.

"You know my friend Rhona? Her family talks about current events at dinner." Marti sighed wistfully. "Or television. Sometimes they talk about television."

"So, no definite plans then?" Nora pressed.

* * *

Three days later and she was regretting her insistence on 'no interference'. When she had told her family to back off, she hadn't expected them to follow her instructions quite so rigorously.

"You know, I didn't realize that 'taking the path of least resistance' really meant 'do exactly what Derek wants'."

"I thought that was implied," he shrugged.

"You can't coerce someone into a relationship, Derek," she explained patiently.

He waited until George had finished choking on his bread roll before saying, "Yeah, well, who keeps bringing up this 'relationship'? Who won't let it drop? Who jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion when I made one helpful suggestion?"

"Your suggestion was that we share my bed!"

"Because your couch is killing my back!" he shook his head. "Face it Casey, one of us has a one track mind – and it's not me."

Everyone, except Edwin, stared at Derek, who held up both hands. "Hey, I was as surprised as anyone else."

"Well if it's so terrible staying at my place, why don't you go back to YOUR place? You have a bed there." She folded her arms.

"Yeah...not really an option right now."

"Why. Not?" she forced out through gritted teeth.

"Jack might have found out that I killed Percy."

"...And by 'killed', you mean...?" George asked, delicately.

"Percy's a parakeet," Casey clarified, not breaking eye-contact with Derek.

"You killed an innocent bird?!" Lizzie looked at him in horror.

"More than one," Casey told her, with relish.

"Casey helped!" he pointed an accusing finger.

She flinched under Lizzie's condemning gaze, but soldiered on. "Okay, so moving back with Jack isn't going to work. But...what about here – your old room is still" –

There was an immediate and vocal "NO!" from everyone, except Edwin.

"Sorry, Derek," Nora said, "It's just...well..." she trailed off.

"We think it would be a step backwards," George cut in hastily. "In your self-actualization. You're at a critical stage in your psycho-social maturity – you're an adult, and it would be harmful to make you regress into a false childhood."

Marti narrowed her eyes. "What have you done with the real George Venturi?"

"You understand, right?" Nora asked, with a slightly dazed look at George.

Derek held out his hand and quirked his fingers, as if asking Casey for her next argument. She obliged.

"Well, then – if moving back here isn't a possibility" – a glance around the table showed everyone was in agreement on this (except for Edwin, who remained in his own soundproofed world, enormous earphones clamped over his ears), "then I think we need to make some changes."

"Changes?" he asked warily.

"I think we need to formalize this arrangement. I mean – you're living in my apartment. That makes you my tenant. Tenants pay rent."

"Tenants also have rights," Derek said. "As my landlord, you're obliged to ensure that my living conditions are up to standard."

"There is nothing wrong with my apartment!"

"My chiropractor wouldn't agree."

"You don't _have_ a chiropractor!" she slapped her hands down on the table in frustration.

In the silence that followed, Marti cleared her throat. "So – did anyone watch the news this evening?" she asked hopefully.

* * *

If it had just been Derek laying siege to her couch and hair-care products, she could have lived with it. But it wasn't like that.

Because Derek made all the right noises about having to share space with her, and refused to let her mention the word 'relationship', let alone acknowledge that they had had one. But sometimes, when she looked up, she caught him...not-looking at her. And once, when he was out, she had stretched out on the couch for a few minutes. The armrests were way too high to make a comfortable pillow for anyone's head, and the stuffing inside the cushions clumped into weird bumps that dug into her back.

It sounded incredibly stupid, she knew – but she didn't want to hurt Derek. When she thought about it, something inside her clenched tight and she got this horrible ache in her stomach.

Because...she knew that she _had_ hurt him. She had ended up hurting a lot of people. But...she didn't want to hurt Derek any more than she already had. And it felt like...letting the living situation continue was going to end up prolonging the hurt. Because it felt like he was waiting for something – waiting for _her_...and if she allowed him to do that – well, that was leading him on.

It was just...too much had happened. She had messed up so badly that – really, was it even acceptable for her to go back to normal? She couldn't fix how things had ended with Mr. Tremblay, or Christian, or Marla – so how could anyone expect her to move on? How could she just shrug and try to be happy when she had made so many other people miserable? It didn't feel like the kind of thing a good person could do.

Well, she couldn't make things right with Mr Tremblay – or Christian and Marla – but Derek? Derek was going to be okay. She would make sure of it.

Except...he made it really hard for her not to hurt him.

Because obviously, obviously when they were in the kitchen and the radio was on and suddenly the Song (the stupid stupid song they had danced to) came on and Derek made this weird gesture that was half a shrug that somehow ended up with his hand on her elbow and said "Kind of a tradition," the correct response was clearly to disentangle herself and remind him, "It's not our song."

But actually doing that and seeing the carefully blank look that quickly appeared on his face made her feel so bad that she tried to make up for it by making him pancakes the following morning. But of course, that didn't exactly help either. Because the flicker of _something_ she saw on Derek's face meant that, to him, they weren't ordinary pancakes. To him, they were pancakes of expectation – mixed message pancakes that allowed him to cling to the delusion that he was wearing her down.

So she was left with the horrible choice – hurt Derek in the short-term, which could hasten the healing process...or postpone the pain and maybe end up hurting him even more in the long-term.

Neither option really appealed to her.

* * *

"No!"

Casey wedged her foot in the door, so that Jack couldn't close it. He looked down at her shoe, then up at her hopeful expression and sighed. "Look – I like Derek. I do. In spite of the fact that he killed my parakeet. The one my grandmother gave me shortly before passing on."

"Then maybe you two could work things out," she suggested.

"The bottom line is...I just don't think I'm equipped to deal with him," Jack said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I mean – there should be a manual – '_The Care and Feeding of Derek Venturi_.' How do you stop him eating things with additives? Is there some way of training him to buy his own shampoo and stuff?"

"Well..." she hedged.

Jack stopped and shook his head. "But...uh – I don't know how to say this, but...he's kind of – your responsibility, Casey."

He looked at her, frowning. "A Derek is for life, not just for booty calls," he said seriously.

* * *

She was on a beach, and the sand was damp and cool under her bare feet. She looked to her left and she could see a figure in the distance – she hoped it was Mr Tremblay. It looked like him, but maybe it was his brother.

She faced forward again, and frowned as she saw a head bobbing up and down in the waves. Marla was really far out, and Casey knew she was going to drown.

"Marla!" she called, trying to warn her – but the wind whipped the words out of her mouth.

"MARLA!" she screamed - but her voice bounced back to her and her legs refused to move, and there was nothing she could do, so she just stood there, powerless to do anything except watch.

* * *

Really, she shouldn't have come at all. She didn't know why she had agreed – except that Derek had obviously caught her at a weak moment and...it was harder than she had expected, hurting Derek's feelings.

Not that this was a date. She would never have agreed to that. Derek had been quick to stress that it was "Completely a guy thing," making sure to shoulder-bump her for emphasis.

Still, she felt nervous as they pushed their way through the crowd of people in the bar, and the relief she felt when she saw Jack sitting at one of the small round tables was immense. No-one could possibly mistake this for a date if they spent the evening with a mutual friend!

She made her way over to the small round table while Derek queued for drinks.

"Hi!" she greeted Jack enthusiastically.

"Casey. Hi," he said. For some reason he sounded less than enthused.

"Hi!" she said again, smiling at the guy sitting next to Jack.

"Oh – this is Brian," Jack said, hastily introducing them. "Brian, this is Casey. She's" –

"She's my buzzkill," Derek interrupted, handing her a drink. "There's a table over there," he indicated left and turned as if to go.

She grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt. "Yeah – but Jack's here. It would be rude to just go. Jack would probably think we don't want to hang out with him."

"It would be completely okay with me," Jack said, quickly. "Don't feel like you have to stay with us. Really."

"I insist," Casey placed her glass on the table. "So," she said brightly, "What's this '_Lovely Miss London'_ thing about?" She gestured to the banner hanging over the entrance to the bar. "A chance for you guys to ogle pretty girls?" she pasted a long-suffering but tolerant expression on her face, and pushed down her feminist urge to degrade this kind of contest as immature and demeaning to women. Derek had invited her as a guy-friend substitute, and she didn't want to do anything to remind him of her non-guy status.

"Not exactly," Derek said, with a thoughtful edge to his voice that made her frown suspiciously. Before she could investigate further, Jack got to his feet.

"Casey – um...can I talk to you?"

"Of course – we've got all night," she smiled.

"Yeah..." he said, as he pulled her away from the table. Casey looked inquiringly at him as he stared back at her, obviously at a loss as to where he should begin.

"So," he said finally, "The date's going well."

She blinked at him. "Me and Derek?" she asked. "Oh – we're not on a date. We're in the same place, together, and at the same time, but it's not a date! This is completely and utterly a guy thing. Derek just wanted to" –

"I'm sure it's a really interesting story, Casey," Jack interrupted. He paused. "They generally are...but the thing is...I meant – my date."

"Your...oh!" she glanced over Jack's shoulder, where Brian and Derek were engaging in desultory small talk.

"Yeah. It's going well," Jack repeated, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Derek and I can find a different table," she offered.

"Great! I look forward to hearing about your not!date some other time!" Jack said, giving her a thumbs up.

* * *

Casey sat very stiffly beside Derek, hands folded in her lap.

"Relax," Derek said, then rolled his eyes and sighed. "Do I have to prove just how much this isn't a date?"

"No," Casey shook her head. "No," she said again. Then, "Maybe."

"Okay," Derek regarded the crowd for a moment, then turned to her. "Ten numbers," he said.

"What?"

"Ten numbers," he repeated. "I bet you can't get ten guys' phone numbers."

"What does getting phone numbers have to do with anything?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm giving you full license to flirt with a bar full of guys," Derek explained. "Would I do that if this were a date?"

She stared at him.

"On with the show," he gestured towards a group of men, then sat back in his seat, arms folded, looking like nothing would please him more than for Casey to start flirting with strange guys.

She stared at him. "Derek – I can't just" –

"Not enough of a challenge?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Okay. How about this? I bet you can't get ten phone numbers before I do."

She blinked at him. "Derek," she said slowly, "This place is crawling with guys. There are hardly any women."

"I'm feeling generous tonight."

She narrowed her eyes. "You don't think I can do it, do you?"

"NNNno," he smirked, "I really don't."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he asked, "Is it on?"

"Oh, it's on," she said.

* * *

It said something about the situation that her speedy exit from the bar wasn't even about Derek's blatant cheating in their contest.

Seconds later, Derek reeled out after her. He took a look at her, arms folded and glare of death on her face, and bent over, laughing.

She waited.

And waited.

Finally, the laughter died down, and Derek straightened up and wiped his eyes. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She stared at him. "Is something wrong?" she repeated. "Is something _wrong_?"

"I was asking you," he said, with an appearance of innocence that was ruined by the fact that he was unsuccessfully fighting a smirk.

"You entered me in a Best Female Impersonator contest!"

"I think you would have made a lovely Miss London," he said sincerely.

She was going to kill him, she decided. Just as soon as she got over her disbelief at the depths Derek was willing to sink to.

"So," he said, casually, "How many numbers did you get?"

"It was a gay bar, Derek! You brought me to a gay bar! How many do you _think_ I got?" Despite her best efforts, her glare didn't cause him to wither away on the spot.

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking," he said, and held up his cell phone triumphantly. "Cause I got ten."

She looked at him. Slowly, almost wonderingly, she said, "I can't believe that you are SO competitive that you would bring me to a gay bar in order to prove that you're better at picking up guys than I am."

"Can I help it if 'The Venturi Effect' crosses gender boundaries?" Derek inclined his head. "How many numbers?"

He waited, and eventually, she gave in.

"...Two. But they just wanted to know what kind of underwear I use to disguise my...package."

Derek doubled over again.

She whirled around and began marching away.

"Come on," Derek called after her, "You were having a good time! Until you found out," he added as an afterthought.

She turned back. "Not as good a time as you were having – Princess."

He held out his hands in a don't-blame-me gesture. "I told you it was a guy thing."

"Not just how MUCH of a guy thing." She bit her lip, then finally gave in to temptation. "That guy who kept following you...is he one of the lucky numbers?"

Derek made a face. "No," he said, very definitely.

"Wow," she said, mock-impressed, "I mean, he seemed pretty taken by 'The Venturi Effect.' How did you shake him off?"

"I told him you were the only she-male for me."

She stopped. His tone was light, but there was something in the words that just...

_He loved her._

She didn't know what it was in the words or his tone that tipped her off, but the realization mushroomed inside her, soft and terrifying. It rooted her to the spot.

"Derek" – she tried not to let the panic show in her voice.

"Don't make a big deal about it," he said suddenly, interrupting her. She tried to catch his eye, but he was staring at the ground.

"Derek," she began again, not really knowing what else to say.

" – Because it's not a big deal," he said, shrugging. "You feel the way you feel about someone until you don't. It's not like this is, you know...permanent, or anything."

She stared at him helplessly. Because how stupid and yet appropriate was it that Derek chose this particular moment, and this stupid way to let her know his true feelings. It was suddenly hard for her to breathe, and it hurt her to look at him. But she did, just kept looking at him until finally, almost challengingly, he met her eyes.

"If it was going to be anyone," she said, slowly, "it would be you," and hoped he would understand. Because how could she explain that everything had changed – that everything _had_ to change – because she really didn't want to be the kind of person who could just shrug off what had happened – like Mr Tremblay's feelings didn't matter, and the way things had ended didn't bother her...and go back to being happy. She couldn't do that.

He snorted. "Okay. Keep talking like a crappy romance novel and I'm going to get over you really fast."

He strode off and after a few seconds, she followed, folding her arms against the cold. They were silent during the walk back to her place, but outside the door of her apartment, as Casey searched through her bag for her key, she said, carefully, "You know, you can't just...make me okay."

It wasn't a criticism or a complaint. Just a statement of fact.

"I hate to break it to you, Case, but a team of highly trained experts couldn't make you okay," he said, in the same matter of fact tone – no heat or annoyance. He looked at her for a long moment before reaching out and taking her hand. She felt something press into her palm as he said, "Catch you later," and turned to go.

She looked down at the key in her hand, then glanced up just in time to see Derek disappear around the corner.

She stood there for a few seconds, before unlocking the door, and going inside.

She closed the door softly behind her, and dropped her handbag. She sat down on her couch and closed her eyes and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. It didn't help, and she ended up burying her face in her hands and letting the tears come.

But only for a few minutes. Because she wouldn't let things end this way. She couldn't. So she wiped her eyes roughly, and went in search of paper and a pen.

* * *

" – can do sweet things. Sometimes. Or, you know, annoying things that have a tiny core of sweetness hidden deep deep down. And – and he...takes very good care of his hair," she said.

"Hold still," Claudia said absently, as she carefully zipped up the back of Casey's dress.

Casey squinted at the sheets in her hand, "So, in conclusion, that is why I think you should re-consider your decision and re-date Derek." She turned around. "What do you think?"

"I think you're the most screwed up person I've ever met," Claudia said. "And that dress is fabulous on you!"

"I meant...about re-dating Derek," she clarified.

Claudia looked thoughtful, like she was actually considering it, and Casey's stomach did something that wasn't a flop of disappointment, and wasn't a leap of happiness either.

"Does he still own that olive t-shirt?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then no." Claudia turned as a woman exited the other changing room and regarded herself in the full length mirror, hands smoothing over her hips. "No," she said decidedly. "That's just hideous – it gives you saddlebags. Wait a minute!"

She hopped out of the changing area and re-appeared seconds later with a different pair of trousers. "Try these instead."

"I don't know if they're quite what I'm looking for," the woman said, looking at the trousers doubtfully.

"Trust me," Claudia insisted, then made shooing motions until the woman finally gave up and traipsed into the changing room again.

"Seriously though," she said, turning back to Casey, "I'm kind of insulted."

"You are?" Casey said.

"Yes! I mean – have you never seen a romantic comedy? The female lead never sets the male lead up with a threat! You don't think I'm a threat!" She sighed as she saw Casey's nonplussed expression. "Okay, let me put it another way," she said. "You would be miserable if Derek really did find someone else."

"No, I wouldn't," Casey insisted. "I'd be happy for him."

Claudia eyed her sceptically, and for some weird reason, Casey found it hard to meet her gaze. "I want him to be happy," she said finally, and that was true at least.

"Yeah...hypocrisy? Not a great colour on you. It brings out the crazy in your eyes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that after getting all..." Claudia flapped her hands frantically, "...about Derek not being able to just wave a wand and make you okay? You don't get to turn around and start trying to fix HIM." She paused. "You know, for someone who charged in here insisting that she couldn't get involved with Derek...you're really invested in his wellbeing."

Casey opened her mouth to argue, but Claudia held up her hand to silence her. "You're confused, Casey. Go home. Figure it out. Take some time and concentrate on fixing yourself. You can work on the Derek stuff when you're back to...I want to say 'normal', but..." she raised her eyebrows, then gazed sternly at Casey and said, "Okay?" in a voice that insisted on total agreement as the only possible answer.

The words made sense – Casey could see that...but the thought that Derek wasn't fixable – that she had messed him up and couldn't help him get back to a pre-messed up state...that made her feel panicky and desperate. But Claudia was looking at her, one foot tapping impatiently – and Casey knew, even if she couldn't feel it, that her advice made sense.

"...Okay," Casey agreed.

The other woman emerged from the changing room, and headed for the mirror.

"Well?" Claudia demanded.

"You know," the woman said, twisting around to view herself from different angles, "I never would have chosen this particular style, but it is quite flattering, isn't it?" She tilted her head to the side and smiled at her reflection.

"I have the perfect blouse to complete the look," Claudia said, steering her back towards the changing room. "Wait just a minute – I'll drop it in to you."

She swung back to Casey. "So – are we done?"

Casey nodded. "Thanks."

"Not a problem. So why don't you get changed, and I'll ring up your purchase for you," Claudia said, gesturing at the dress.

Casey blinked. "I – that is, I'll take that sweater you showed me," she said, suddenly nervous. Claudia's stare seemed a lot more critical now than when she had been explaining the complexity of the Derek situation. "I – just...the dress is – it's kind of...expensive."

Claudia sighed. She also sounded a lot more exasperated than she had minutes before. "Casey – I get that you're confused right now...but this dress? It's a once in a lifetime dress. It's the kind of dress that...okay, fast-forward fifty years and picture this – so, you're all old and creepy-looking and stuff – but one day, your grandkids are like, helping you with a clear out, and they come across a picture of you in this dress. And yeah, the picture is black and white, faded and bent at the edges, but your grandkids can still see that, 'Wow – grandma was a total hottie.'" She looked at Casey expectantly.

"Why would the picture be black and white?" Casey asked, frowning, "I mean, it's not like..." she tailed off under Claudia's narrow-eyed gaze, "I'll take it," she said meekly.

At the counter, as Claudia reverentially folded the dress and encased it in tissue paper, she said, suddenly, "You know, Derek used to talk about you a lot when we were together."

"What are you saying?" Casey asked slowly. "That he...had feelings for me the whole time?"

Claudia blinked. "Um, no," she said, very definitely. "Hello – he was with me? And I am NOBODY'S substitute." She shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm sorry – that wasn't what I meant to" –

"What I was saying," Claudia spoke over her, "is that...you don't talk about someone that much...if they're not important to you."

She held Casey's eyes for a long moment, and for some reason, it made Casey uncomfortable.

* * *

Nora halted when she saw the bag from Claudia's boutique on Casey's arm. "The grandkids story?" she asked.

"The grandkids story," Casey confirmed with a sigh.

Nora looked from the bag to Casey's face, then bit her lip, half-smiling. "Come on," she said, grabbing hold of Casey's hand, and pulling her towards her and George's bedroom.

Half an hour later, and they were lying down on either side of the bed, both wearing the dresses from Claudia's boutique. Nora ran her hands over the skirt of her dress, luxuriating in the silky glide of it, and –

"Remember that pink skirt-suit you had?" Casey asked suddenly, remembering. "The one you wore with the silver shell earrings?"

"The pale pink one?" Nora grimaced. "I'm not supposed to wear pale pink. It washes me out, apparently. Don't tell Claudia."

"You looked beautiful," Casey disagreed, closing her eyes and remembering being little and surrounded by a cloud of her mom's perfume. When she opened her eyes, Nora was smiling softly at her.

"It's nice to see you looking like that," she said, reaching out, and stroking Casey's hair behind her ears.

"Like what?"

"Happy," she said simply. As she smoothed blue material over her knees, she continued, "You know, that dress really is something special. Maybe you and Derek could" –

"Mom," Casey interrupted. She stopped for a minute, searching for the right words, "What you said before – you were right. Me and Derek...that was a bad idea."

Nora looked at her. "Funny," she said finally, "I was just coming around to it."


	20. Chapter 20

NOTES: ...and here we are! Oh wow. I can't believe this. This is the longest thing I've ever written, and I know for a fact that I definitely wouldn't have finished it except for - well, you guys! Thank you all so much for your feedback, for telling me what worked for you and what didn't, and for just being all-around awesome. I'm a bit nervous posting this - I really really hope it doesn't disappoint.

DISCLAIMER: LWD is completely not mine. This was written for fun, not profit.

* * *

It was the look in his eyes that got her. Every time. The look full of hurt and disappointment that said, "You are not the person I thought you were."

It wasn't that she was always thinking about it (and was that wrong, too?) – but at odd times it flashed across her mind – the last thing Mr Tremblay had said to her, the last time he'd met her eyes, and the memory always jolted her.

She remembered other things too, of course – weird small things like the huge bandage on Marla's finger on the day of the funeral, and big terrible things like the way Christian had said, so flatly, "She's not you," the day she had said goodbye...those memories tapped her on the shoulder at odd times and made her forget, just for a second, whatever she was doing.

But mostly, she remembered the look in Mr Tremblay's eyes.

It wasn't that she remembered it all the time – most of the time, everything was normal. She got up, she went to work, she talked to her family...and everything was fine. It wasn't even that it was completely unbearable when she did remember. It was just...there, and sore to the touch, like a bruise. She wondered if it would ever totally heal, and she was torn between hoping it would, and being...kind of afraid that it would at the same time.

Because it should hurt. It should matter. Mr Tremblay had mattered to her, and if the memory of his pain and anger and disappointment stopped hurting her, then it meant he didn't matter to her anymore.

And she just couldn't live with that.

In the middle of this, there was Derek. It wasn't that Derek didn't matter – it wasn't that at all. Derek mattered. And Mr Tremblay mattered. It was just...she couldn't find any way to reconcile both of those facts. They refused to fit– it was like trying to push the positive ends of two magnets together. And Casey thought maybe it would never make sense...and maybe it shouldn't, because things had ended so badly with Mr Tremblay because of how she felt about Derek, so technically, she didn't deserve to skip into the sunset with him...but sometimes, the idea that she might always be split, conflicted and guilty about her feelings made her feel...kind of terrified.

"Just so you know – you are now officially lamer than George," Marti informed her, as she watched Casey pack away her groceries. "Relationships aren't that hard!"

"I'm older than you – shouldn't I be the one giving you romantic advice?" Casey asked, arranging the bananas in the fruit bowl.

Marti fixed her with a deeply sceptical gaze. "Do you really think you're qualified?"

Casey considered this. "Proceed," she sighed.

"Just – be happy!" Marti said, pushing her hair behind her ears in exasperation. "Seriously, try it – you might like it."

It sounded easy, when Marti said it. But in reality, it was like...asking her to treat all the continents like jigsaw pieces, and slot them together. Sure, they had all been part of the same landmass once, but now...

Marti shook her head in defeat. "Okay," she said, "But could you at least try to work something out before I start filming my sociology documentary?" She paused. "Although – maybe it would be a more compelling story if you guys were still messed up...okay – disregard my last piece of advice." She got up and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.

"Are you leaving?" Casey asked.

Marti nodded.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, gesturing at the enormous rucksack Marti had brought with her.

"That's not mine – it's Derek's laundry. He says you owe him for crippling him emotionally and physically."

Bizarrely, the fact that Derek was using the way he felt to try and guilt her into doing chores for him...actually made her feel better. If Derek was scheming, then things weren't that bad.

"Tell him he can use my washing machine when he comes by to pick up his mail," she said.

Marti looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. "You guys are like – the best argument against evolution I have ever heard."

Casey didn't know why though. Derek dropped by later, and in between the bickering and emotional blackmail, they managed to get two loads of laundry done. And even if neither of them was fixed, it felt weirdly normal.

* * *

"So the title is, '_Competition and Cooperation - A Theory, by Marti Venturi'_."

"That sounds interesting," Casey approved, while Derek dropped his head against the back of the recliner and snored, "Bo-ring."

Marti folded her arms. "The subtitle is: '_Winner Takes All – Survival of the Fittest_.'"

Derek straightened up and looked interested, and Marti passed around –

"Release forms?" Nora asked.

"Standard precaution," Marti said quickly. "Now – if everyone has signed, I'm going to film the introductions." She picked up her camera from the coffee table.

Almost immediately, Derek was up, squinting over her shoulder as she set up. "You're framing your shot wrong," he said, reaching out to take the camera.

Marti twisted away, still holding the camera, "I'm framing it the way I want to frame it, so butt out!"

"Yeah, but if you just" –

"Derek, why don't you let Marti handle it," George intervened. "She looks like she knows what she's doing."

Marti shot a glance of triumph at Derek before turning back. "Thanks, dad," she said.

George's indrawn breath was audible, and Nora leaned over and placed a hand on his arm. "Play it cool," she whispered.

"I – that is – you're welcome," George said, smiling inanely, "I mean, no problem. Any time..."

Marti ignored this and focused on shoving Derek back onto the recliner. "Now, how about you sit down, shut up, and try to look pretty?"

* * *

"Okay – blue!" Marti called out. As the others lifted the multi-colored parachute high, making it billow, Edwin and Lizzie ran underneath, swapping places before the parachute descended. Rhona, Marti's camera-operator, focused furiously on recording the action.

"Yellow!" Nora and George's turn. They ended up in a heap on the front lawn.

Marti turned to the camera. "Observation number one," she said. "Even though the game is cooperative, and there should be no conflict, inevitably real-life tensions leak through."

"What tension?" Casey demanded. She eyed Derek over the expanse of material. "There's no tension!"

Derek rolled his eyes at her. "I think she meant" - and he flicked his section of the parachute, making it flutter upwards and revealing Nora and George, sitting up and arguing.

"I just don't see how it's any of your business," George said, clambering to his feet.

"I was just trying to help." Nora dusted herself off.

"By phoning my cousin behind my back?"

"Well, you wouldn't do it!" Nora argued. "I think they need to talk things through. Don't you want them to work things out?"

"Of course I do. I just don't think you can force two people to get married so that you get to wear an expensive dress!"

"Guys!" Marti called. Nora and George started guiltily, before scurrying back to their places.

"Green!"

This time, it was Derek and Casey's turn to swap places. There was plenty of room under the billowing parachute, so Casey wasn't entirely sure how they ended up tripping over one another. Derek glared at her as the coloured material softly descended, and she could hear Marti saying, "So, as I said, real life tension totally affects performance even in a non-competitive game."

* * *

Marti, using bizarre Marti logic, bestowed points in an arbitrary fashion – even for the cooperative games.

"That sort of undermines the whole 'cooperation' angle," Casey said.

"Point taken," Marti said. "Actually – two points. Your score is now one."

Her jaw dropped as Derek smirked. "But that's not fair!"

"Are you trying to undermine my authority?" Marti asked, "Because that automatically resets your score to zero."

Casey quickly shut her mouth.

* * *

The next task saw them divided into pairs and given three days to build a popsicle house. The creators of the most impressive house, Marti assured them, would be well on their way to winning the entire competition.

"Marti said Nora and Edwin are working on a balcony," Derek said. Then, with an exasperated noise, he let a handful of popsicle sticks fall onto Casey's kitchen table. "You know, if you could stop thinking about your jerk ex-boss for ten minutes we might have a shot at getting our score out of negative numbers."

"Hmm?" Casey asked, before his words penetrated. Then, indignantly, she said, "Mr Tremblay was not a jerk!"

She stared at Derek, amazed at his insensitivity. He didn't seem to notice, once again absorbed with the popsicle sticks. "Well, from the stories your ex told, I'm not really seeing any evidence for him NOT being a jerk."

"He wasn't a jerk!" she repeated, upset.

"Yeah – if you can't back up your statement, then" –

"Of course I can back it up," she said fiercely. "He was sweet and kind and thoughtful – behavior I'm not surprised _you_ can't recognise" –

Derek just raised his eyebrows at her, and in response, she launched into a passionate defence of Mr Tremblay.

" – wrote a letter to my dad, telling him how proud he should be of me, and even though he had this huge collection of books and plays, he used to just give them away to people he liked. He used to go to the highschool and give talks about Shakespeare, even though no-one ever listened, and when he said 'How was your day?' he really wanted to know, and..." she stopped for a second, before continuing in a different tone, "and I don't mean that he was perfect...because he wasn't, or that he never did anything wrong. But – he always cared. Maybe he didn't always show it in the right way – but whatever Christian thought...he did care. He really wanted him to be happy."

She smiled. "I mean – I knew everything about Christian before I even met him. He never stopped talking about him. And when he did show up, Mr Tremblay spent two weeks trying to set us up."

"And you're sure he wanted Christian to be _happy_?" Derek asked slowly.

"Shut up," she said, without heat. She smiled again, and kept talking – not just about his good qualities, but about quirks and habits that couldn't be described as 'good' or 'bad', that were just...part of who he was. Like the fact that he always insisted that chamomile and apple flavoured herbal tea was his favorite beverage, even though he never drank it, or the way he couldn't resist three for two offers (even if he never used the products in question), or the way he clicked his fingers when he was thinking about something.

When she finally ran out of words, she was exhausted. But it was worth it, because finally, Derek looked at her and said, "Okay, he wasn't a jerk."

Of course, he followed that with – "He was just incredibly weird."

* * *

The following night, Marti and her camera got in on the action, as they frantically worked on their popsicle verandah.

"You know," Marti said helpfully, "Nora and Edwin's house has an eyebrow dormer. And columns."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't paired me up with Klutzy McBreaksalot maybe we would have columns!"

"Maybe we would," Casey agreed, "Of course, since your side of the house leans, all the columns would have to be different heights."

Marti said, "So, in theory, team-building exercises are supposed to maximise performance." She zoomed in on their rickety popsicle house.

"In _theory_," she stressed.

* * *

Something had changed. Just by talking about Mr Tremblay – it changed something. She didn't realise it until Janine finished the story about the understudy who was so nervous he fell off the stage, and Casey said –

"My boss...I mean, my old boss – once, he was in a play, and he was supposed to slam his fist down on the table – and he ended up breaking one of his fingers."

"Ouch," Janine said. "What did he do?"

"It was the middle of a scene. He had to keep going. Or this other time," Casey continued, "he had stomach flu the opening night of the play. He just made sure there was a bucket in the wings and hoped for the best."

"He sounds like a trooper," Janine said, absently, only half listening. He was just a name to her, Casey realized, and she was being polite, waiting for Casey to finish.

"Yeah. He was," Casey said, almost to herself.

It was nice, to remember Mr Tremblay smiling as he told her those stories. It wasn't entirely easy – the memory of the last time they had spoken made its customary appearance and the discord between the two was jarring.

...But Mr Tremblay was gone. He couldn't speak for himself, or tell stories about his past, and he could never be more than a name to Janine. Now, all that remained of him was the sum of Casey's memories. And maybe...maybe it was just as important to remember the good things. All of him deserved to be remembered, not just one small piece.

She tried to hold onto that thought even as part of her wondered if it wasn't just a way of letting herself off the hook.

* * *

The third night, a drastic redesign made their house look, if anything, less impressive.

In the middle of gluing a popsicle stick, Casey said, "I can't look at you right now."

"So that's an overdramatic 'no' on the balcony?" Derek asked.

"No," she said. "I mean – that was the last thing he said to me."

She took a popsicle stick between her fingers and bent it, testing its strength. She hadn't meant to say that – she didn't know why she had. She especially didn't know why she had chosen to tell Derek, of all people.

"Can you pass me the..." he gestured to a bundle of popsicle sticks on her side of the table. With a feeling of mingled disappointment and relief, she did. It was probably better not to talk about it. After all, what could Derek say, really?

"I hope you know how lucky you are to have Casey," he said, frowning down at the roof of their house.

"What?"

"That was the first thing he said to me." He shrugged. "Obviously he was delusional, but..."

"I don't think he felt like that at the end," she said, with a funny twist of her lips. "It was like...he hated me."

"Yeah, well, when he talked to me about you – which, by the way, he did constantly – I almost went into shock from the sugar-overload."

"So, what does that say about me," she said, trying to keep her voice light, "That he could go from feeling like that about me to feeling like..." she shook her head, and stared at the table.

When she looked up and met his eyes, he said, "It means you mattered to him." He sounded matter of fact, slightly annoyed even, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

His right hand reached across the table, and without thinking, she caught it in hers. "Thanks," she said.

"Um – I was going for the sticks," Derek said, looking down at their joined hands.

"Oh," she said in embarrassment, "I'm" –

He reached across with his other hand and grabbed the bundle of popsicle sticks next to her elbow.

"Hey, if it keeps you from ruining the Popsicle Dream House," he said, and left his right hand in hers.

Of course, building a popsicle house using only his left hand and her right, was doomed to end in failure...well actually, it ended with Casey asleep on the couch, the horrible blanket Derek kept forgetting to take away, thrown over her, and a vaguely house shaped object drying on the coffee table.

* * *

Someone was knocking, and she knew it was important. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

And there he was.

"Oh," she said, "Oh, I knew it was all a mistake," even though she hadn't, not until the very second she saw him.

They smiled at each other, and at exactly the same moment, their hands began to reach out.

Oh, please, Casey thought, let me keep dreaming –

And then she was holding both of his hands in hers, and the realness of it – the feel of his fingers, thick and strong and gripping too tight – took her breath away.

"Oh," she said, wonderingly.

And then she woke up.

She lay on the couch for a few minutes until the ache in her back and neck made it impossible for her to stay still for one more second. Then she threw off the blanket, and made her way to the kitchen. Wide-awake, she filled a basin with cleaning supplies, then headed towards the bathroom, thinking very hard about every single step, so that she didn't have to think about anything else until she was ready.

Inside the bathroom, she got to work. Almost mechanically, she began to scrub the sink and taps. She wiped the mirror, and sprayed the tiles that extended half-way up the walls. And all the time, memories were scrolling through her head like a film strip. And in a small way – it _was_ like watching a movie, because the memories were sad, but the sting of them – the catch, the thorns – was gone. It was just sadness for someone lost, uncomplicated by guilt or shame or anything else. She was hardly aware that she was crying – the tears slipped out without effort, easily. She was much more conscious of the smell of the tile cleaner, rising in a citrusy cloud around her, and she knew that she would never be able to buy that brand again.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made her freeze, then whirl around, finger already pulling the spray trigger of the tile cleaner.

Derek looked down at the wet patch on his t-shirt.

"What are you doing here?!" she demanded, heart still pounding.

"It's the bathroom, Casey," he said his best talking-to-idiots-voice.

"I meant, where did you come from? I thought you went home!" she took a deep breath.

"Yeah – we finished at two in the morning," Derek said, "And by 'finished', I mean I glued the last popsicle stick while you serenaded me with your snoring. I didn't want to wake you, so I did the gentlemanly thing and took the bed."

He raised his eyebrows at her then looked at the tile cleaner.

"Um – I had a" –

"Mildew emergency?" he asked, brushing past her to sit on a corner of the bath.

"A dream," she said, and turned back to the wall. She blindly sprayed tile cleaner, then wiped the tiles with the cloth in her other hand.

She heard Derek take a breath behind her, but before he could say anything, she said, quickly, "It wasn't a _bad_ dream."

She sat down, cross-legged, and sprayed the very bottom row of tiles, the ones that met the floor. There was a silence for a few seconds, before –

"You're probably the first person in the history of the world who needs to be told this," Derek said, sounding exasperated, "But it's okay to be okay."

His knee touched her shoulder, and almost without thinking, she leaned back into it.

* * *

Ultimately, it didn't matter that Lizzie and George won the popsicle house challenge - for demonstrating teamwork and collaborative skills, Marti said (and also because Nora and Edwin were disqualified for consulting an outside contractor to help with the eyebrow dormer).

It didn't matter because, "Points gained in all previous challenges are null and void. The Relay of Death will decide the ultimate winner." With a professional smile, Marti turned back to Rhona and the camera.

"How can there be one winner in a relay race?" Casey wondered.

"Relay of Death," Derek mused. He sounded interested.

"I have a better question," Edwin said. "Why are we doing this? Why haven't we mutinied?"

"Yeah," Lizzie agreed. "It's not fair. Marti keeps changing the rules!"

"I _think_ she's investigating our deep-seated psychological desire to conform to authority – no matter how bogus the authority is," George said.

"Or she enjoys tormenting us," Edwin said flatly.

"There's that too," George conceded.

"Again – why are we not mutinying?"

"She just started calling me 'dad' again!"

"And, well..." Nora began sheepishly, "...she IS in charge."

* * *

"If you hadn't stopped in the middle of the race to answer your cell phone" – Derek glared at Edwin as Nora rounded the corner, playing card in hand. There was no sign of George.

"I have to be available 24/7," Edwin defended himself. "That's how you build a loyal customer base!"

Casey and Lizzie cheered as Nora jogged to a halt and handed the playing card to Casey, who turned to Edwin and Derek (but especially Derek) and said – "I'm sorry guys," sounding anything but, "...I guess you can't win them all."

As George finally turned the corner of the house, Casey said, "Don't worry, D, I'll take it slow – and lessen the humiliation of your inevitable defeat" –

Derek's eyes narrowed. Almost before she had finished speaking, his hand snaked out and snatched the playing card from her fingers, and he took off.

"Hey!" Casey shouted, "That's not fair!"

She turned to Nora and Lizzie. "Did you see that?! He's cheating!"

"He's also getting away!" Lizzie pointed out. "Are you just going to let him win?"

Casey began to run just as George reached them, the hand holding the playing card extended in front of him. "Where's Derek?" he panted, looking around.

As Casey reached the back of the house, she caught a flash of Derek disappearing around the corner. But by running flat out, she managed to lessen the distance between them by the time they rounded the final corner.

As Lizzie, Nora, Edwin and George came into view again, she set her jaw and put on a final burst of speed. She reached out and managed to grab hold of the back of Derek's sweatshirt – and pulled...causing him to fall onto the grass with a heavy thump, and causing Casey to trip over him. This didn't appear to phase either participant, as battle immediately commenced over the playing card – a battle that only halted when they both pulled the card in opposite directions, ripping it in two.

They looked up to find Marti and Rhona, camera in hand, hovering over them.

"Who won?" they both demanded.

Marti stared at them in disbelief. "Okay – you're scrabbling in the dirt over the FIVE OF SPADES. Who do you think won?"

"It was me, right?" Derek said, brandishing his half of the playing card. "I got the bigger piece."

Marti shook her head. "Ultimately, I think genetics is the real loser here." She looked between Casey and Derek. "Never have kids," she advised.

* * *

Though it wasn't as exciting as the competition had been, the post-filming wind-down wasn't entirely devoid of drama.

"You spoke to him? Oh, Georgie!" Nora made a high pitched sound, and threw her arms around him.

Strangely, George seemed slightly nervous. "He said that seeing how much we cared about them, made them realize how much they still loved each other, and" –

"And the wedding's back on?" Nora asked, clasping her hands together hopefully.

"And the wedding's back on," George confirmed. He cleared his throat, "But..."

"But?"

"They're so grateful for our help that – they want us to take a bigger role in the wedding..."

"How big a role?" she asked warily.

"...Best man and matron of honor," George tensed and closed his eyes, and everyone looked at Nora cautiously.

"Matron of honor gets to choose her own dress, right?" she asked, in a small voice.

"I'm kind of tired," Casey said suddenly. "I think I might...go."

"Me too," Derek said. As they hustled out the door, the last thing they heard was –

"Pale pink taffeta?!"

* * *

She was tired, and sore from tumbling over Derek, and there were grass stains all over her clothes.

"I had fun," she said, as they stood outside her door. "I mean, it was fun...all of us, spending time together as a family. I really" –

Without warning, Derek leaned forward and kissed her.

It only lasted a moment, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back, he said, "You can pretend that was a family kiss if you want."

She didn't know what to say, "I" –

It was almost a relief when he kissed her again, because she really had no idea what to say. It lasted longer this time, his hands going out to curl around her upper arms. She just stood still and let him kiss her and felt...and felt.

She looked at him when he pulled back again, and said, "And what about that kiss? Was that a family kiss too?"

He raised his eyebrows, and sounding surprised, he said, "What other kiss?" He took two steps backwards. "You and your one track mind," he said, shaking his head at her in mock-disapproval before turning around and walking away.

She watched until he turned the corner, and she couldn't see him anymore. Then, carefully, slowly, she unlocked her door and went inside, feeling all the while as if something new, and small, and easily crushed was growing inside her.

* * *

It was a week later when Janine came up behind her and said –

"The kid and your boyfriend are at the front desk, asking for you."

"He's not my boyfriend," Casey clarified, "I mean it's...there's obviously something but...not yet – we haven't res" –

"Okay – the kid and your 'not-yet' are waiting for you," Janine said, pushing her forward. "Go!"

Marti, flushed and grinning, brandished a DVD in her direction. "'_Competition and Cooperation: A Theory'_? A plus."

"Congratulations!" Casey leaned over the desk and hugged her.

"She said it was well researched and fascinating. And also disturbing." Marti paused. "She thinks we could benefit from therapy."

"Congratulations?" Casey tried again.

"The pizza party and private screening are scheduled for this evening, and for some weird reason, Marti actually seems to want you there, so" –

She ignored Derek and turned to Marti. "Of course I'll be there! I should be finished here in another," she consulted her watch, "half an hour. I'll change and be right over!"

"Great," Marti said, and turned to Derek, who sighed and extracted his wallet. "And...could we have two tickets to the Saturday matinee."

Casey blinked.

"I'm expanding my mind," Marti said. Under Casey's gaze, she caved. "Or our English teacher wants us to write a review."

She turned her eyes to Derek. "Nap here, nap at home..." he held out both hands and balanced them, as if it didn't make any difference. "So - two tickets," he said again, snapping his fingers.

"Three," she decided, taking the money he set down on the desk.

His head jerked up and she swallowed, slightly nervous.

"I mean," she said, stumbling slightly over the words, "If you're snoring in the next seat, Marti's going to need someone to set a good example for her, so..." she shrugged.

They looked at each other for a long moment before he reached out for the tickets. Something is going to happen, she thought. Someday, something is really going to happen.

The thing was – it wasn't like a movie or a story, where one cathartic moment meant everything was suddenly okay. All those parts of her – the part that felt guilty about Mr Tremblay, and the part that missed him, and the part that really wanted Derek to be happy, and the part that wanted her to be okay too...they still didn't quite – mesh. But maybe – that wasn't how it was meant to happen, she thought. Because life was messy, and sometimes things were left unfinished, with things unsaid, not done. And maybe you just had to learn to live with that, make peace with it as best you could, and...

And as her hand and Derek's brushed, it was like...it was like the future, flashing through her mind for just an instant – not a vision, but a feeling. All these pieces will fit together one day, she realized. Just slide together as if they were puzzle pieces, made to fit without contradictions. How, she didn't know, but she knew that they would.

"You know, it's not that I'm a monster," Janine said, coming to stand beside her as she watched Derek and Marti disappear through the exit, "But when I see people looking happy, I always think they should be working harder."

* * *

She thought about Janine's words as she walked to her apartment, and collected her mail and unlocked her door.

Because - happy? She wasn't quite there yet. She was...content, inching her way towards happiness. She knew that there would always be a part of her that regretted how things had ended with Mr Tremblay – how could there not be? But even though that regret would always be there, a part of her - like her name, she was making room for other feelings, and finding that they were just as real, and just as much a part of her as the regret.

And it was slow, but she was moving forward – and she was going to get there, someday.

And she found herself hoping that when she got there, Derek would still be waiting. Because it was slow, and she wasn't going to promise anything and _make_ Derek wait, because – because if she was serious about him, about a real relationship, then she needed to be...whole. Okay. Not conflicted about her feelings. Ready.

And maybe, by the time she was all those things, Derek would have moved on. And if he had – well, she would understand. Because she knew now, that there were no 'happily ever afters'. There were endings, and beginnings, and continuations, but through it all, life just kept happening, and somehow people made it through all these things – a little scratched, maybe, but mostly okay.

She slipped off her shoes, and flicked through her mail, tossing the junk onto the coffee table. At the bottom of the pile, there was a small brown package, addressed to her in familiar looking writing. She stared at it for a long second, before opening it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Inside, there was a book, with a letter paperclipped to it. It was covered in the same scrawled writing, and she carefully pulled off the paperclip, and unfolded it.

_Dear Casey,_

_I could have phoned, I know, but I thought I'd 'rediscover the lost art of letter writing' instead. Actually, I'm discovering I suck at the lost art of letter writing. This is my fourth attempt, and I'm kind of hoping it's going to be my last, because my hand is starting to cramp up. It's weird though –I know exactly what I want to write, so this should be easy. I should be done by now._

_I'm sorry. That's really what I want to say. Because everything was so crazy, and you weren't there...and then dad wasn't there, and I know I should have said something – but I guess what it comes down to is, I was still angry with you._

_Remember the day you left? You asked if dad ever said anything about you? I didn't lie, I just didn't...tell you the whole truth. We didn't talk about you, afterwards – but I know dad thought about you. And not...I mean, it wasn't all bad. The play I've sent you was on top of his bedside locker. Take a look – I hope it's a better answer to the question you asked, than the one I gave you in dad's office. It's a more honest one, at least._

_I'm sorry it took me so long. And I'm sorry...about how things worked out with us. I hope you're well and doing okay – actually, I hope you're doing better than okay._

_Best wishes,_

_Christian._

_P.S. Marla says hi._

Casey lowered the letter, and picked up the book. It wasn't anything special – an ordinary paperback Shakespeare. _Much Ado About Nothing. _Mr Tremblay had hundreds of the same kind of book, crammed into the shelves in his office, stacked in piles in his bedroom.

But when she opened it, on the flyleaf at the front, she saw in his spidery writing – her name. _Casey_.

Almost in disbelief, she reached out, and traced it with her finger. After everything that had happened, he had written her name inside this play, as if he was going to present it to her, the way he gave out books and plays to his friends. Like one day, they would meet again, and everything would be...all right. Like that day in his office wasn't meant to be an ending, just a 'to be continued'.

Gently, she replaced the book on the coffee table, and wiped her eyes. It took her a minute to identify the feeling inside her, brilliant and huge. Joy, she realized. That's what it was.

Of course, she told herself, as she slid her feet into her sneakers, she should still go slow. Her fingers quickly tied her laces. Because she had learned a lot of valuable lessons during the last few months – and just because this wonderful moment had happened, there was no reason to discount those lessons.

It was important to go slow, she reminded herself as she picked up her keys. She should probably take a few hours and think about what should happen next. After all, hadn't she just decided that one shining moment didn't make everything all right again? She felt her heart thump hard as she realized again that Mr Tremblay hadn't died hating her, that Christian had forgiven her – it was like colliding with happiness, crashing into it, sudden and powerful, and she realized that she was on the other side of the door, and her fingers were turning the key in the lock.

Well, she had promised Marti, she reminded herself, as she started to walk. And really, this didn't have to affect her and Derek. They could still take things slowly – it was the safest, best course of action. What had Christian written? _'P.S. Marla says hi'_. It wasn't a guarantee, or anything – she knew there wasn't always a happy ending.

But for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to think there might be.

* * *

Her feet pounded along the sidewalk faster and faster, and she skidded around corners, breath coming hard and fast, heart thumping hard in her chest.

And then she was running up the driveway and bursting through the front door.

The pizza party was obviously just beginning. Edwin and Lizzie had slices in their hands, while George, Derek and Marti were nosing around the pizza box on the coffee table, and Nora was distributing glasses of soda, when she exploded through the door and came to an abrupt halt.

"Casey," her mom took a step forward, sounding worried, "Is something wrong?"

But she kept her eyes fixed on Derek as she took in deep lungfuls of air and tried to calm her breathing.

"So," she said, trying to sound casual, normal, even though her heart was still thumping far too fast, "Um. We're going to need a new song, because if you think that I'm okay with 'our' song being a second-hand cast off from your last girlfriend, then you are so" –

She had to take a breath when the expression on Derek's face shifted from incomprehension to understanding, and her feet were moving of their own volition until she was standing in front of him.

"- are so," she said, absently continuing, "you are so – so..." She looked right into his eyes. "Screw it," she finished, and then her hands were on his face and she was kissing him, fierce and joyful. She could almost feel the 'click' as finally, finally, all the pieces slotted together.

"Oh," Nora said. "I'm glad. A little weirded out," she continued, as Derek's arms slid around Casey's waist, "But glad."

"Took you long enough," Derek mumbled into her hair, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of a slow learner."

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said, breathlessly, "But shut up." She pulled his face to hers again.

With a dramatic flourish, Edwin dropped his pizza onto the coffee table. "Great," he said, then turned to Lizzie. "How many other food groups do they have left to ruin?"

"Okay – now that you guys have FINALLY reached a creepy yet satisfying agreement – how about we watch my documentary? " Marti asked hopefully.

"You know, I think Casey might have reached stage five," George said to Lizzie.

"Yeah," Lizzie said, a grossed out look on her face, "and it looks like any second now, Derek's going to reach second base."

Her and Derek, well, it probably wasn't going to be a conventional 'happily ever after', she realized, as they kissed to sounds of polite, panicky caution (George and Nora ) and noises of revulsion (Lizzie, Marti and Edwin) – and maybe 'happily' wasn't exactly the first word that sprang to mind when she thought of herself and Derek, but still...

She tightened her arms around him.

* * *

And they lived...


End file.
